#but i can promise i’ll pour my soul into it

[cotton-candy-vodka]

drop charminghearts art requests <3

[gilverrwrites]

I love imaging Dick, Tim, and Damian sneaking around trying to meet Jasons new gf because they just wanna be involved in his life and they know if they they leave it to Jay they wont meet her u til they're married with kids 😭

AND ‘omg us meeting Jason’s siblings when’

AN: Ngl I love this idea too, its so shitty of them but they have the best of intentions.

Damian

A boy no older than 14 with eyes that pierce the soul was not what you'd expected to find on Jason's couch the very first time he'd left you alone there. Jason had to dip out unexpectedly early, and had promised you run of the place until he got back so you'd slept in as long as you could and were on your way to make breakfast when you're greeted by the hell-child.

Once your initial fright wears off you realise you recognize him from a photo Jay had showed you which makes you feel slightly more at ease.

“Good morning? Damian right?” You offer as you pass him, be-lining for the coffee machine, you're gonna need caffeine if you're meeting any member of Jay's family for the first time. “Can I get you anything?”

“Alfred says it's unbecoming to sleep past 9.” Besides the initial glare he'd graced you with as you emerged from the bedroom, he doesn't even look up at you, his eyes glued to the pages of a book. Like brother like brother, you guess.

“Oh, well. Good thing Alfreds not here then.” You add a small laugh, trying to inject some humour to the situation. Damian does not respond in kind. “Is that a no? I think there's some chocolate cereal around here somewhere.”

“What do you do for work that allows you to be in my brother's home in the middle of the day?”

Jeez this kid is no-nonsense. “Or I could make pancakes, I make really good pancakes.”

“And tell me what exactly are your intentions with my baby brother?” Baby?

“I think there's some chocolate chips around here somewhere. Jason says you like chocolate. Chocolate pancakes?”

“Do you always avoid questions?”

“Are you always so intense?”

He slams the book closed and you nearly jump on the spot. He finally looks at you, really looks at you and as you stare back his features begin to soften slightly.

“I’ll have a coffee.”

You're certain from the sly look on his face that he's probably not allowed coffee. He certainly doesn't need any. But screw it, he's not your kid and if it gets him to like a little, you'll take the risk.

So you pour two coffees and join him on the couch. His questions do not cease until Jason returns about an hour later. He couldn't care less about the coffee, but he does care about Damian breaking in to interrogate his partner and immediately kicks Damian out.

Dick

Dick finds out about your existence from one of Damian’s letters, and he's subtle but pushy about meeting you. Not that you're aware. He keeps ‘dropping by’ Jason's apartment ‘just to see his lil brother’, no other reason but is told to get lost or downright ignored anytime you're there, until he decides to cut out the middle man and turn up at your home instead.

“Let me tell you, you are a hard person to get a hold of.” He informs as he invites himself through your front door.

“Um, hello Dick?” As you stare at his lush hair and sculpted abs you wonder what Alfred feeds these boys.

“Yep! I can't stay so I’ve gotta make this quick.” he gestures for you to come closer, speaking in a playful, conspiratorial whisper. “Jay doesn't know I'm here.”

That would be why he can't stay, Jason is due at your door any minute now.

“But you two seem to be getting pretty serious and I think it's important that we all get to know each other. You following?”

You nod, and he gives you the perkiest, most genuine smile. That or he has that exact look practised to a T. From what Jay tells you, either is possible.

“So, Barbara and I, that's my wife” You nod once more, you're aware of Barbara also. “have booked a table at Casa Gotica for Thursday night. We need you to get Jason there without letting on that it's a double date.”

“I don’t know.” you finally give your nodding head a break. “Jay and I don’t lie to each other.”

“Right. I can't begrudge that. Very glad to hear he's picked an honest one.” He takes a moment to straighten his thoughts, but his moment is cut short but the echo of Jason’s combat boots approaching your door. Dick’s eyes rapidly scan the room for a secondary exit before he settles on an open window. “Don't think of it as lying, think of it as omitting the truth. Whatever you have to do just be there for 6.30. Oh, and it's great to meet you!”

“You too.”

“Thursday, 6.30!”

Before you can agree he’s gone, presumably scaling the side of your building as Jay steps inside.

Tim

Tim was actually the first to be aware of you and your relationship with his brother, however, the very real possibility of being gutted by Jason for snooping in his personal life was too high for him to make a move.

But you seeking him out is a different story; or rather, you being the first to say hi when you bump into each other in line at the grocery store is different. It would be rude not to respond to your attempts at initiating a conversation.

“Hello, hi, are you Tim? You don't know me but I’m Jasons partner. Its so great to meet you.”

“I know who you are.” He states rather ominously, eyes darting around behind you. “Is he here?”

“No, but he's picking me up after.” His shoulders visibly ease.

“Cool cool cool.” He’s suddenly much more personable. “So, I hear you're into…”

That chatting doesn't dry or lul at all as the queue dwindles and both buy your groceries. He waits with you until you get confirmation from Jay that he's on his way. He's easily the chillest sibling you've met thus far.

When Jason arrives he gets out of the car to open the boot and passenger door for you as always, but not before he thrusts his phone in your face. “Where is he?”

Displayed on the screen is a selfie of Tim with you in the background, you absolutely do not remember it being taken.

[covenofagatha]

A Helping Hand

You're helping your Professor gather ingredients for a potion she's brewing when you accidentally knock over a jar of sex pollen and need help.

Word count: ~3100

Warnings: smut, mommy kink, fingering, Top Agatha, magic cock, blowjob, magic cum, pure filth, teacher x student, age gap (everyone's legal)

Your brow furrows as you stare at the open spell book in front of you. You have a Potions test tomorrow for Professor Harkness, and evident by your lack of understanding of any of the words on the page, you are not going to do well. 

“What’s wrong?” your roommate, Wanda, asks you. The two of you are the top witches at the Academy of Dark Arts, and yet, neither of you has a strong suit in potions. 

And of course, the Potions teacher, Agatha Harkness, is the hardest teacher you have. 

“This is impossible. How am I supposed to remember that, for the Wolfsbane Potion, you have to stir three times counterclockwise, say this incantation, and then stir four times clockwise, all while making sure I’m continuously pouring in Dragon’s Blood?” Your head hurts just from reading it from the book. 

Wanda snorts. “Agatha doesn’t expect it to be perfect.”

You give her a look. You both know that’s a lie. Agatha is the teacher that makes you redo written homework assignments if you leave too much space between the words. 

The Academy of Dark Arts was a home for witches like you and Wanda: witches that did not have a coven, or even a family. The Academy was supposed to teach girls to harness and understand their powers. 

You have been here the longest, ever since you were twelve. You are almost twenty now. You had always put off taking Potions until you could no longer avoid it, mainly just because of how hard everyone else said it was. You had briefly interacted with Professor Harkness before the class, passing her in the corridors or making eye contact at meals. 

And maybe, just maybe, you had developed a bit of a crush on her once you were in her class. 

Who could blame you, though? She was the definition of perfection, with the way power just exuded from her, and the way her long, dark hair tumbled down to her lower back, and her piercing blue eyes that you suspected could see right into your soul. 

But your little infatuation was not what you needed right now – no, right now, you need to study. 

“I just don’t know anything,” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. “I can’t even read my notes.” Agatha often went so fast in class that you had no other option than to just scribble down everything you thought she said as quickly as you could. 

And now you just had pages of illegible chicken scratch. 

“She’s probably still in the green house, why not just go ask her for help,” Wanda says noncommittally, too engrossed in sketching a picture. How she is so calm with this test hanging over the both of you, you have no idea. 

But you nod. That’s a good idea. You can go see Agatha, ask her to clarify a few things, and then stay up all night cramming ingredients and directions into your brain. 

“I’ll be right back,” you promise, and then scoop up your book and your notes. 

You pass by some younger witches in the hallway and you give them a tight-lipped smile. Wanda was really your only friend at the Academy, the other girls too boy-crazy or too self-absorbed for you to really connect with them. 

Other than those girls, though, the Academy is quiet. No sign of any of your other teachers, and you’re sure they’re either in their private quarters or still grading papers in their classrooms. 

You have to leave the main house of the Academy to get to the greenhouse, where Potions takes place. The cold November air stings your cheeks and makes your eyes water, but luckily, it’s a short walk. 

“Hello, Professor Harkness?” you say timidly, knocking on the door as you push it open. She’s sitting at a stool, cutting plants with a sharp knife. Her hair flowing down her back and she's wearing a tight white button-down shirt on that’s tucked into high-waisted purple pants, and a long, navy coat.

She glances up and smiles when she sees it’s you. “Y/n, what can I do for you?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to come see if you could help me clear some things up for the test tomorrow,” you say, a little flustered by how good she looks. 

“Sure thing, hon. First, I need your help. Hand me those powders from over there?” She points the knife over to the counter by the sink and you oblige, grabbing the four vials and putting them down next to her. She picks each one up and examines the label closely. “Ah, shoot. Sorry, dear, could you find the jar with the powdered root of asphodel? It should be in the pantry somewhere. I thought I took it out, but I guess I forgot.” 

“Yeah, of course.” You repeat the powder name in your head a few times so you don’t forget it and then go search for it. 

You finally spot it on the fourth shelf, sitting in the middle of some other jars, and you reach up on your tip-toes to grab it. As you’re pulling down the correct jar, you accidentally knock it into another and it falls to the floor next to you. 

“Shit!” you mutter, immediately crouching down to assess the damage. The jar of some unknown powder has broken and its contents are spilled everywhere. Without even thinking, you start to sweep the powder into your hands so you can try to put it back in the bottom half of the jar that’s still intact. 

You didn’t even notice Agatha coming over after she heard the noise. “Everything okay – don’t touch any of that!” she exclaims, seeing the bottle that broke on the floor.

You drop the mound of powder in your hands and whirl around, eyes wide open. 

“What is it?” you ask, afraid of the answer, but she doesn’t give you one, instead opting to pull you by the sleeve over to the sink. 

“Wash your hands now,” she demands and stands there watching you scrub your skin until it’s red. “How do you feel?” 

“I feel fine,” you say, but as you say that, you notice something. There’s an unmistakable heat growing in your stomach. And it only gets worse when Agatha places a hand against your forehead. You lean into the touch and have to forcibly bite your tongue so you don’t moan. 

She looks you up and down and you can feel yourself getting hotter. You’re sure your cheeks are flushed. 

You’ve never felt this way before. 

“Um, just out of curiosity, what was that powder?” you ask, wetness pooling between your thighs. The ache between your legs is becoming hard to ignore. 

Agatha meets your eyes. “It’s called sex pollen.” Your heart skips a beat. “I honestly forgot it was back there. I came across some a few decades ago and wanted to study it.”

You swallow hard. “So if someone gets some of it in their system, do they just need to touch…” You feel yourself blushing, not quite believing you’re asking Agatha Harkness if masturbation is the key to get this heat inside you to die down. 

She smirks. “You can’t get it out of your system by yourself.”

Well, fuck. “There’s no other way?” 

“Where would the fun in that be?” She winks playfully, and you wonder if she’s ever used it, or used it on someone else. “But you said you feel fine so you shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“Right,” you reply shakily. Her fingers brush a strand of hair out of her face and you literally clench at the sight of them. You feel so empty, so needy, so desperate for her. 

“You said you had some questions for the test tomorrow?” She takes the root of asphodel that you had forgotten you were holding and beckons you back over to where she’s working. She pats the stool next to you and you sit, the pressure on your clit making you jump. 

You just have to make it through this, go back to your room, and then drag Wanda out with you to a club or something so you can get fucked. 

The only problem is, you’re not sure you can wait that long. Your hips have started squirming on the stool beneath you and you can’t control it. 

“Um, so,” you start, opening up the textbook to the Wolfsbane Potion you were studying earlier. “The directions for this potion are–”

You’re cut off by her putting her hand on top of yours and you literally whimper at the contact. You stiffen and see her turn her full body towards you, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead, your darkened eyes, the way your hips are moving on the seat. 

“Oh, you poor baby,” she taunts. 

You give up the pretense of being unaffected by the pollen. “Professor, I’m so…I need…please…I think the pollen...” 

She laughs. “Yes, dear, I think the pollen got into your system. Do you have anyone who can take care of you?” 

You blush at the implication of Agatha asking if you have a fuck buddy and then shake your head pathetically. “I was gonna go out with Wanda and try to find someone,” you mumble. “I’ve never…” You trail off, not wanting your incredibly hot professor to hear you say out loud that you’re a virgin. 

“Honey, you can’t have your first time with a random person from a bar,” she tuts. “Plus, sex pollen amplifies feelings you already have. Getting fucked by a random person won’t help as much as by a person you already want.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” you whine. “Can you…will you…please?” You can tell the pollen is affecting your ability to think straight because there is no way you just asked your centuries-old professor to fuck you. You’re about ready to run out of the room and die of embarrassment when she grins. 

“You want me to help you?” 

Your breath catches. “Professor, please, please, I need it. I need you. I just feel so…hot.” 

“I’ll say,” she says appreciatively, this time letting her eyes wander over you slowly. “Are you sure? I don’t want you regretting this when the pollen wears off.” 

You shake your head. “I won’t. I’m sure. I want you so bad. I have for a while. And you said it has to be someone you already want.” 

Her eyes darken. “Get on the table.” 

You’ve never moved so fast in your life. She takes your shirt off and throws it somewhere else in the room, and then her hands are cupping your breasts and her mouth is on yours. 

You moan hungrily into her hot mouth, feeling her tongue against yours. Your hands tangle in her hair, pulling it gently, and she groans into your mouth. Agatha quickly undoes the clasp of your bra and finds your nipples, tugging at them. She kisses down your neck and your fingers leave her hair to hike up your skirt. 

“So eager for me,” she whispers against your clavicle. You gasp when she bites down. 

“Please, professor, touch me.” 

“I am touching you,” she teases, fingertips lightly skimming down your stomach. You tense at the touch as she gets lower. 

Your moan is downright pornographic when she first slides her hand into your underwear, sliding through your folds. She makes a sound as well. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re soaked,” she says. 

“All for you,” you say weakly, hips grinding up and down against her fingers. She’s yet to touch your clit, but you fear the second she does, you’ll cum. 

“My dirty girl.” Agatha finally pushes her middle finger into you and you clench down immediately, needing more. She easily finds the spot that makes you squeal, and her thumb brushes against your clit. “Do you think you can take another finger?” 

“Oh my god, yes,” you enthusiastically agree and she slides in her ring finger as well. It’s a bit of a stretch but you’ve never felt better. 

“Your cunt feels so good around me,” Agatha says, grabbing your chin with her other hand so you meet her eyes. “So wet, so warm. I want to stay here forever. You can’t get enough of my fingers, can you?” 

“No, Professor, I love your fingers,” you babble, right on the edge. She knows it too. 

“Be a good girl and come for mommy,” she whispers right into your ear, her hot breath warm, and the name, coupled with the way she twists her fingers and roughly strokes your clit, sends you climaxing. 

“Fuckkkk,” you moan, your nails digging into her shoulders. She fucks you through the aftershocks of your orgasm and then slowly pulls her fingers, which are drenched, out of you. You can’t help but feel empty and the heat inside you isn’t completely gone. 

Before you can say anything, she slides her wet fingers into your mouth and you lazily lap at your juices. She bites her lip at the feeling. 

“How are you feeling now, baby girl?” 

Her fingers leave your mouth with a pop. “Better but I still think I need more.” 

Her eyebrow raises playfully. “My fingers weren’t enough to quell your thirst?” 

You shake your head, feeling a little embarrassed. 

“I think I know something that might help.” She waves her hand and a poof of purple smoke appears. You’re not quite sure what she did, but she gives you a wicked grin and unzips her pants, pulling out a purple strap-on. 

Your mouth falls open. 

She grabs a hold of the base and starts to stroke herself, groaning. 

“Wait, can you-” 

She looks up at you. “Feel it?” She nods. “I wanna feel you clench around my cock. Wanna fill you up.” 

You let out a small gasp. “Mommy, please, I need your cock.” 

She steps back over to you and runs a hand up your slit, collecting your wetness, which she then rubs on her cock. “You’re plenty wet already, but why don’t you get on your knees and show me how much of a good girl you can be.” 

She doesn’t have to tell you twice. You practically fall to the ground in front of her, ignoring the sharp pain in your knees. You look up at her, awaiting instruction, and she bites her lip softly at the sight of you. 

She puts a hand on your head and pushes you closer. “Put a hand around the base and then run your tongue up and down the length.” 

You do as you’re told and you delight in the loud moan that tears from her mouth. Her hand just rests on your head as you then experimentally suck the tip of her cock between your lips. 

“Good girl,” she says gruffly, and her praise drives you to test the waters and go down further. You bob your head on her dick, never breaking eye contact. “Fuck, baby, your mouth is so hot.” 

Meanwhile, the need inside you is growing so much you can barely fight the urge to slip a hand up your skirt. But you don’t. You figure Agatha won’t like that, and also, you want to focus all your attention on making her feel good. 

“Such a dirty slut on her knees for mommy. So desperate for this cock,” she says and you groan around the strap-on, making her hands tighten in your hair. She pulls you back and a string of saliva connects your lips to her. “Get up.” 

Once you’re standing in front of her, she flips you around and bends your front over the table so she’s standing behind you. She pushes your skirt up and traces your pussy with her cock, sliding it up your slit to your clit and then back. You’re grinding against her, trying to get some stimulation. 

“Are you ready?” Agatha asks. 

“Yes,” you answer, voice hoarse with anticipation. You feel her line the tip up with your hole and then slowly start to push in. 

Both of you moan. She is so big but the stretch is exactly what you need. Once she bottoms out, she holds still for a second, letting you adjust to her size. 

“You take my cock so well.” And then she’s pulling out and thrusting back in, picking up speed and intensity. You lift a leg up so she’s able to get deeper and you can feel her hips stutter. “You pretend to be so innocent but look at how desperate you are for me. Just a little slut, needing me to fill her up.” 

“Yes, just a slut for you, mommy.” 

Her nails dig into your hip and her other hand comes down to rub your clit. You clench around her. 

“You’re so tight, so hot, you feel so good squeezing my dick,” Agatha murmurs, saying the filthiest things right into your ear. You’re so close and it’s only been a few minutes of her pounding into you. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. Her hand leaves your clit and you gasp. 

“Not yet, baby, wait for mommy. Do you want me to fill you up?” 

“Want you to fill me up, mommy, wanna feel you dripping out of me,” you babble. 

“Oh shit, baby, gonna cum in you. Cum for me,” she says, and you do. This orgasm is even more intense than the one before and you feel her give you one last hard thrust before warmth spreads through your cunt. She stills for just a second and then gingerly pulls out. You can feel her cum dripping out of your hole and down your leg and it almost makes you cum again. 

Agatha turns you around and spreads your legs so she can watch it better. She takes two fingers and lazily smears her cum mixed with yours all over your pussy lips. She raises her fingers to your lips and you eagerly taste both of your juices, moaning around them. 

“Do you feel better now?” she asks, a playful glint in her eyes. 

You sigh dramatically. “For now. But who’s to say I won’t get into more sex pollen some other time?”

She chuckles and matches your smirk with one of her own. “Well, I guess I better keep a careful eye on you then.” 

[thedivinetarot]

Closer to you than your breathe

Channeled message from them

☆ How to chose your pile?

Take a deep breath, clear your mind. Focus your intentions on receiving the message from this reading. And close your eyes, ask the question in your head " what is the message I'm meant to receive from them?" And open your eyes. The pic youa re drown to the most isnyour pile.

☆ Who is this reading from?

You can apply this reading on any person but I did it for your future spouse or future partner. Also, there will be non-explicit part and explicit part so if you are under 18 do not continue to the explicit part.

☆ Note:

I started doing paid readings so if you are interested here's my Masterlist which is currently open. Feel free to DM if you want a paid reading.

Lots of love

Arya❤

Pile 1 - Letter one

My Dearest Love

I’ve waited so long to find you, and now that you’re here, my world feels balanced and whole. You are the Queen of my heart—grounded, nurturing, and endlessly generous. With you, love is not a fleeting feeling but a steady exchange of care and understanding. I cherish the way you give so freely, yet remain true to yourself. I know we’ve both had moments of doubt, times when the weight of the world felt too heavy, or when we questioned if we’d ever find this connection. But I want you to know that you are my clarity, my choice—just as I hope I am yours. There’s no confusion in my heart when it comes to you. I’ve left behind illusions and embraced the simple truth: we are meant to be. Our love feels like destiny—two cups pouring into each other, endlessly full. With you, I see a home, a foundation built on joy and celebration, not just with each other but with the life we’ll create together. I dream of the family gatherings, the warmth of shared memories, and the way your presence feels like home no matter where we are. But love isn’t always light and easy, and I know there will be burdens to share and moments when we’ll need to lean on each other. I promise to carry those loads with you, to walk beside you, step by steady step, as we build a life we can be proud of. I’ll be your Knight, slow but steady, working tirelessly to give us the stability we both deserve. Sometimes, I feel the echoes of the past—familiar memories that remind me of what love can be. You feel like a wish come true, like someone I’ve known before, a soul I’ve loved in another time. I see so much potential in us, as if fate herself worked her magic to bring us together. You inspire me to believe in the impossible, to dream of all we can achieve together. With you, I am not just the person I am, but the person I aspire to become. You are my muse, my strength, my love. I can’t wait to grow with you, to nurture our love like the strong and enduring tree it’s meant to be. You are my moon, my light in the darkness, my guiding star. Together, we’ll create a love that’s as deep as the roots of the earth and as limitless as the sky.

Forever yours,

Your person

.

MDNI +18

My Beloved

From the moment we met, there was no question in my mind that you were the one. I feel the pull of your energy, your warmth, and the way you touch me—not just physically, but deep within my soul. You are everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and more than I ever expected. With you, love is not just an exchange of words or glances; it’s a delicate dance, an endless giving and receiving. You, my Queen, have a way of grounding me, of making me feel like I am both powerful and tender, all at once. In your arms, I find comfort and the freedom to be myself—completely and unapologetically. I crave the way your body fits against mine, how it feels to be lost in the rhythm of us, in that space where we both melt into one. There were times I wondered if I would ever find this kind of love, the kind that fills every part of me and leaves me wanting more. But the moment I laid eyes on you, every doubt faded away. You are no longer just a possibility, you are my reality. My heart has chosen you, and now, I only have eyes for you. The moments we share together are more than just memories; they are the foundation of a passion that burns bright, that fuels our connection. When I look at you, I see everything I’ve ever wanted. I want to explore every inch of you, learn the taste of your skin, the sound of your breath when you’re lost in pleasure, the way you moan my name in the quiet moments between us. We have something rare and deep, something that feels like it’s been written in the stars. When you touch me, when our lips meet, it’s as if time itself stands still. I feel you in every part of me—inside, outside, heart, and soul. I know the road ahead won’t always be smooth, but I am ready to carry you through it, to take on every burden, every challenge with you by my side. I’ll never let go of this love, of this connection we have. I’ll cherish you, adore you, and make you feel like the most desired person in the world. You are my magic, my everything. I want to give you a life of passion, of intimacy, of everything you’ve ever craved. And with you, I’ll always find my way back home, to your arms, where I am truly alive.

Forever yours,

Your Future Lover

Pile 2 - Letter 2

( With the cards I picked, it seems like this pile’s spouse has experienced some tough moments and inner struggles. There's a sense of uncertainty, heartbreak, and perhaps confusion, but also a desire for healing and balance. Their future spouse may want to reassure them of a love that helps them find peace, security, and emotional fulfillment despite these challenges).

My Dearest

I know you’ve been through much, and my heart aches when I think of the burdens you’ve carried alone. The weight of your past and the struggles you’ve faced are not unnoticed, and I see the wounds that have shaped you. You have endured, and that strength, though hidden beneath your pain, shines through in ways that I admire deeply. There’s a deep sadness in me, knowing that there have been times when you felt abandoned or lost. But I want you to know—none of that will remain when we are together. I will be the one who holds you, who sees through the fog and the fear that clouds your heart. In me, you will find a refuge, a sanctuary where you can lay down your burdens and let go of the sorrow that lingers. The path we walk may not always be easy, but I will guide you, patiently, through the darkest of times. I’ll be the steady presence, the one who lifts you when the weight of the world feels unbearable. Together, we will heal from what has hurt us. Together, we will find balance in a world that often feels chaotic. You may have moments of doubt, of confusion, or of wondering if things will ever truly change, but I promise you this: I am here. I see you for who you truly are, not the past, not the fears, but the person capable of immense love and joy. Your wounds do not define you; they are simply part of the journey that will bring us closer, that will help us understand each other on a deeper level. Though I know there may be times when you feel disconnected from the world around you, when loneliness creeps in, remember that I am always with you, even in the silence. We will create a space where trust is restored and where the pain of the past becomes a distant memory, fading with every passing day we share. I’ll be there to calm your restless heart and bring you peace. You are my treasure, the person who completes my life in ways I never knew possible. I will work every day to show you how much I cherish you, how much I desire to build something beautiful with you, despite all that has come before. No matter how long it takes, we will create a life of love, healing, and serenity. I see you. I understand you. And most of all, I am here for you—every part of you, no matter how scarred, no matter how uncertain. Together, we will shine again.

Forever yours,

Your person

MDNI +18

My Dearest

I know you’ve carried so much pain, and my heart aches at the thought of the loneliness you’ve felt. I feel it, the weight of your struggles, the scars that mark you, but let me tell you this: I will be the one to remove those burdens, to kiss away every trace of sorrow from your skin. In my arms, you will find a release like no other—where you can surrender, where the heaviness of the world can fade into nothing. You’ve felt abandoned, lost at times, unsure of whether someone could truly see the real you. But I see you. Every inch of you. I see the raw beauty in your vulnerability, the fire beneath your uncertainty. When you let me in, I’ll show you what it means to be wanted, to be needed, in ways that go beyond the physical. I’ll make you feel desired—not just for your body, but for the depth of your soul. I crave you—your softness, your strength, the way you carry both pain and passion. When we come together, it’s not just about the pleasure. It’s about releasing everything, every thought, every fear. In our connection, I’ll show you what it feels like to be lost in the heat of the moment, where the world outside ceases to exist, and all that matters is the way we fit together. There may be moments when you feel distant, when your heart is clouded with doubt or sadness, but I will always pull you back to me. I’ll take your hand, guide you through those dark moments, and show you how to let go completely. In those moments, I’ll taste your lips, feel the heat of your body against mine, and remind you just how much you are wanted, how much you are adored. Every part of you calls to me, from the way you look at me with those eyes filled with longing, to the way your skin reacts to my touch. You will learn what it means to be worshiped, to be loved in a way that burns, that leaves you breathless, that makes you forget everything except the heat between us. The journey we’ll take together won’t always be easy, but when I’m with you, I’ll make every touch, every kiss, every whisper, something you will never forget. You are everything I’ve ever dreamed of—more than I ever imagined—and I want to take you, every inch of you, body and soul. We will create a world where our connection is all-consuming, where every moment together feels like the first time. I will be here, ready to explore every part of you—your desires, your fantasies, your deepest cravings. Together, we will create a love that goes beyond words, a passion that will never fade.

Forever yours

Your Lover

Pile 3 - Letter 3

This pile seems to have a mix of longing, introspection, and fiery new beginnings. Your future spouse or person likely sees you as someone who has faced emotional challenges but still carries hope and passion for love. The Lenormand cards (ring, birds, and dog) suggest commitment, deep conversations, and loyalty.

My Beloved

I see you—your strength, your resilience, and the fire that burns within you despite the times you’ve been hurt. I know you’ve faced moments where the world seemed to take more than it gave, leaving you wondering if true, lasting love is even possible. But I want you to know, I am here, and with me, you’ll never feel that imbalance again. I will cherish you as you deserve, giving you my all with every moment we share. Your heart, so beautiful and tender, has been bruised before, but it hasn’t broken. That courage, that determination to keep hoping, to keep believing, is what draws me to you. I admire the strength you carry even when you feel uncertain or vulnerable. You don’t need to carry the weight alone anymore—I will be the one who stands beside you, steady and unwavering. When we meet, you’ll feel it—a spark, a passion, an undeniable pull that we can’t resist. You awaken something in me that no one else can. Every touch, every shared glance, will feel like it was meant to be, like we were created to fit perfectly together. I’ll make sure that every moment with me reminds you of how deeply loved and desired you are. Our connection will be unlike anything you’ve known—loyal, passionate, and endlessly fulfilling. We’ll share conversations that stretch into the night, where words flow as naturally as our hearts beat for one another. I’ll be your closest companion, your unwavering support, and the one who always chooses you, no matter what life brings. I promise to build a life with you that is rich in love and overflowing with joy. Together, we’ll create a bond so unshakable that no doubt or fear can touch it. With every kiss, every whispered word, I’ll remind you that you are my everything—the one I’ve waited for, the one I’ll never let go. So, my love, hold on just a little longer. The path may not always be easy, but it’s leading us to each other. When we finally unite, all the longing and waiting will be worth it. You are my wish come true, and I am yours.

Forever yours,

Your person

MDNI +18

My Beloved

There's a fire in you that I can't resist, a strength and passion that calls to me in ways I never known. I see the way life has tested you, how it left its mark on your tender heart, but it hasn’t dimmed your light. Instead, it made you more irresistible. You’ve carried so much alone, but when we are together, I will take that weight from you. I’ll show you what it means to truly let go and surrender to pleasure, to love, to me. When I look at you, I won't be able to hold myself back. I’ll crave the heat of your body, the way your skin responds to my touch, the way you sigh my name when I make you mine. There's an ache in me that only you can satisfy, a desire to explore every inch of you, to uncover all the hidden parts of your soul and your body. Our connection will be unbreakable, raw, and consuming. I’ll take my time with you, savoring every moment, every kiss, every shiver that runs down your spine when I touch you in ways no one else ever will. When I'm with you, the world will disappear, and there will be nothing but us, the rhythm of our bodies moving together, the sound of your moans filling the air, and the way you'll beg for more. You awaken something primal in me, a hunger that only you can sate. I will show you just how much I want you, how deeply I desire not just your heart but your body, your soul, everything that makes you who you are. I'll make you feel cherished and wanted, not just in words but in every action, every passionate moment we share. I’ll kiss away every tear, every doubt, and replace them with sensations that make you forget the past. When I touch you, it will be with purpose to remind you that you are mine, that no one else will ever know you the way I do. And when I take you in my arms, I'll make sure you never feel alone again. You are my deepest desire, my most sinful craving, and my sweetest dream. I'll be your lover, your partner, your everything. Together, we'll create a passion so consuming that it will leave us both breathless, a connection so deep that it will feel like nothing else has ever mattered before us. I am waiting for you, longing for the day I can finally claim you in every way. Until then, know that you are the one I burn for, the one I'll never stop wanting.

Forever yours

Your lover

Pile 4 - Letter 4

My Dearest

I’ve thought so many times about the day we will finally meet, and what I will say when I look into your eyes for the first time. I don’t know how it will feel, but I know it will be electric, like a spark igniting something powerful between us. I want you to know that when I look at you, I will see everything—the beauty of your soul, the depth of your heart, the strength you've hidden away. I see how much you’ve carried on your own, how many burdens you’ve shouldered in silence, and it will make me want to hold you even more. There have been many times when life has felt uncertain, when it seemed like we couldn’t go on. But there’s something about us, something I can’t quite explain, that makes me believe we were always meant to find one another. You and I, we will balance each other out, filling in the gaps that have existed in our lives. The weight of the world won’t feel so heavy when I’m beside you, and I will make sure you never feel alone again. I will cherish every moment with you. I want to take my time with you, to savor every conversation, every touch, every glance. I want to be the one who makes you feel safe and secure, the one who stands by you when life gets tough. I see how much you’ve given to others, how much you’ve sacrificed, and I want to give you everything you deserve in return. I want to show you that love can be steady, that trust can be built, and that when you give yourself to someone, it’s not in vain. There may be moments when we question if we’re ready for what we’re about to experience, but I know deep down that this connection between us is something extraordinary. It won’t always be easy, but we will navigate the storms together, side by side, knowing that what we have is real. When I’m with you, I will make you feel seen, heard, and adored. I crave the day when we can finally be together, when I can hold you in my arms and tell you that you are the one I’ve been waiting for. Until then, know that you are in my heart, that you are the person I am working toward, the one I will never let go of.

Forever yours

Your lover

MDNI +18

My Dearest

From the very first time I lay eyes on you, I will know that you are mine. There will be no hesitation, no doubts. You will awaken a desire in me that I can’t control, a fire that I’ve never known before. When we come together, it will be explosive—the kind of passion that burns everything in its path. I want to take you in my arms and make you feel wanted, desired, cherished in ways no one else ever has. I will trace the lines of your body with my fingertips, savoring every curve, every inch of you. When I kiss you, I won’t just kiss your lips—I’ll kiss your soul. And I’ll make sure that you feel every kiss deep within your bones, as if it’s your very lifeblood. There will be times when you’ll need me to show you how much I want you. I’ll make it clear with every touch, every breath, every word. You’ll feel my hunger for you, and you’ll know that it’s not just physical—it’s spiritual, it’s emotional. You will be the center of my world, the one I can’t stop thinking about. When we’re together, I’ll let go of all the restraints I’ve built around myself. I’ll let go of everything holding me back, and I’ll give myself completely to you. I’ll make you forget everything but the heat between us, the way our bodies move together in perfect harmony. I’ll make you feel things you’ve never felt before, and you’ll beg for more. But it won’t just be about pleasure. I want to take care of you, hold you, protect you in ways you never knew you needed. I’ll show you what it means to truly be loved, to be craved, to be desired—not just for your body but for everything that makes you who you are. I’ll explore your body and your mind, learning everything there is to know about you. And when I touch you, you’ll know it’s not just about the moment—it’s about creating something lasting, something deep and unbreakable. With every touch, every kiss, I’ll make you feel mine in ways no one else can. I am waiting for you. I long for the day we can finally be together, when I can hold you close and claim you completely. Until then, know that you are in my thoughts, in my dreams, and you always will be.

Forever yours

Your future person

Post date: 21st of Dec- 2024 / Sat

* Feedback is appreciated

[sasheemo]

Revenge and Reconciliation

Pairing: Ex gfs Bound!Agatha x Witch!Reader

Summary: When the hex shatters, the bond between you and Agatha reignites with a force too raw to ignore. Confronting her after decades of anger, betrayal, and yearning, you’re determined to make her pay. Power, passion, and a collision of unresolved emotions blur the line between vengeance and surrender.

Tags: Bitter Ex Gfs, Smut, Revenge Sex, Emotional Angst, Power Dynamics, Magic-Infused Sex, Magic Strap, Magic Cum, Magic Wrists Restraints, Slight Degradation, Cum Powered Reconciliation, Revenge Gets Sticky, Sub!Agatha (I know, wtf), Writing Sub Agatha Feels Illegal, Is It Subbing If She Still Wins Tho?

Word count: 6.6k

A/N: I wrote this fic as an attempt to wrestle my way out of the creative block that’s been clinging to me like an overly affectionate stray cat. I don’t think it’s the best thing I could have written, and I’m not entirely convinced by it, but the idea had been gathering dust on my list for a while, so here we are.

The concept of sub!Agatha has always intrigued me—mostly because, in my mind, it’s about as rare as a solar eclipse. I usually stick to writing Dom!Agatha, but hey, I think sub!Agatha is canon-compliant too… just in that “blink and you’ll miss it, alignment of the magical cosmos” kind of way.

For this fic, I decided to throw caution (and some very own personal hcs) to the wind and see if I could somehow make that dynamic work in an x Reader setting. Did I nail it? Definitely not. Do I feel like I truly captured the elusive sub!Agatha vibe that lives rent-free in my head? Eh, we’ll call it a work in progress. Maybe I’ll take another swing at it someday. For now, here’s my first attempt—enjoy! 💜

MASTERLIST

Read on AO3

It’s subtle at first—a faint ripple in the air, like a string pulled taut and suddenly slackened. But you feel it, deep in your body and soul, as if the ground beneath you shifted. 

The hex is broken. 

Agatha.

Her name lingers in your mind like a curse, dragging with it a torrent of emotions you’ve spent decades trying to bury.

Fury, white-hot and all-consuming, surges to the surface, clawing at the walls you’ve built around it. You can feel it all, the bitterness, the pain, the endless ache of betrayal.

Yet everything feels shushed by the unmistakable pull of her magic, faint but familiar, like the distant hum of a melody you can’t forget.

You’ve tried to sever this bond more times than you can count, poured every ounce of power into cutting the thread of magic that still ties you to her. 

But it never worked. Years of spells, rituals, and desperate attempts to scrape her magic from your soul couldn’t erase that connection, that cruel reminder of the love you once shared.

You don’t want to feel her. You don’t want to feel anything.

But with the hex shattered, she’s there—everywhere. The memories rise like a tide, drowning you in the ghost of what once was. 

The warmth of her fingers, trailing just long enough to leave a fire in their wake. Her voice, low and teasing, laced with promises that made your heart race. You remember the way she laughed, genuine and unguarded when she let herself forget the world, or the way her lips curled into a smirk when she caught you staring, daring you to look away. Those stolen nights, when her touch was tender and her kisses slow, felt endless, like she was giving you pieces of her no one else had ever seen.

And then… nothing. 

She left. Without a word. Without a reason. Without even a shred of decency to say goodbye. She disappeared like smoke, leaving only the cold, bitter truth: it meant nothing. You meant nothing.

The memories crash to a halt, mocking you, shaming you, for ever believing she could be anything more than one of her masterly crafted lies. 

Your magic surges in response, wild and vengeful, begging for release. You clench your fists, trying to ground yourself, but it’s futile. Her presence—or the absence of it—calls to you.

It’s been decades, but the wound is as raw as the day she abandoned you, as sharp as the moment you realized she wasn’t coming back. 

But you won’t give her the chance to run this time.

Without hesitation, you focus your energy, feeling the familiar pull of teleportation. The world shifts, and when you open your eyes, you’re standing outside her house in Westview. It’s dark and unassuming, the air around it heavy with the remnants of the hex’s magic.

The door slams open with a burst of energy, the wood groaning under the force of your magic. The faint remnants of Wanda’s hex still cling to the air, a metallic tang that pricks at your senses, but they’re nothing compared to the oppressive weight of her presence.

Agatha is sprawled on the couch as if she hasn’t a care in the world, her posture loose and unbothered despite the clear signs of exhaustion clinging to her. 

Her dark hair, longer than you remember, tumbles around her shoulders in wild, mussed waves, catching the light like ink kissed by moonlight. Her clothes are rumpled, the lines of her blouse wrinkled and her jeans have clearly seen better days, but somehow the disarray only adds to her maddening allure. 

And then there’s her face—those sharp cheekbones, that pale, smooth skin, and the glint in her icy blue eyes that even now refuses to dim. 

She looks up at you, her smirk curling with the same audacity that’s haunted you for decades, and for a moment, you hate how effortlessly breathtaking she is, how your heart still skips a beat whenever her eyes meet yours. Even now, even when she’s powerless.

“Well, well.” she drawls, tilting her head, her voice laced with a defiance she has no right to feel. “Come to gloat?”

You take a step inside and the air shifts, charged with the force of your presence. For the first time in decades, you’re the one with the power, and Agatha—bound, powerless, and alone—is at your mercy.

“You look terrible.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting. “What happened to the all-powerful Agatha Harkness? Shouldn’t you be out scheming, manipulating, destroying lives? Oh, wait—”. You step closer, savoring the way her smirk falters, “You can’t.”

Agatha’s smirk snaps back into place, but there’s a flicker—tiny, fleeting—of something behind her eyes. Fear? No, she wouldn’t let you see that. Regret? That would be even more shocking. Whatever it is, it’s gone in an instant.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.” she says, leaning back against the couch. “I guess that hasn’t changed.”

Your jaw tightens, so hard you’re lucky you don’t chip a tooth. The sheer audacity of her, lounging there like she hasn’t single-handedly fueled centuries of your bitterness, makes your magic flare. 

The air around you hums with tension, a wave of heat radiating from your skin, but she doesn’t even flinch. Of course she doesn’t. Why would she? Agatha has always been maddeningly immune to the consequences of her actions. 

“Don’t you dare pretend nothing happened.” you snap, stepping closer until you’re towering over her. “You left, Agatha. You abandoned me without a word. No explanation, no goodbye—just gone. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

“I had my reasons.” she murmurs, voice quieter now, almost too quiet.

Your laugh is cold, bitter. “Reasons? That’s the best you can come up with? You destroyed me, Agatha. For decades, I tried to understand why, to make sense of how I meant so little to you.”

Her lips part as if to speak, but no words come out. For a moment, just a moment, you see something raw in her gaze—a vulnerability she’s trying desperately to hide.

“Don’t.” you say sharply, your magic flaring brighter. “Don’t you dare try to justify what you did. You don’t get to play the victim.”

Her smirk falls back into place, but it’s weaker now, almost brittle. 

“You’re really milking this righteous fury thing, aren’t you?” she quips, though her voice lacks its usual bite. “What do you want, then? Revenge? Closure? Or did you just miss me?”

The last question catches you off guard, her tone teasing but her eyes searching. Your magic is screaming at you to be unleashed, the rage bubbling so close to the surface as you lean in closer, your face inches from hers.

“What I want,” you say, your voice low and dangerous, “is for you to feel even a fraction of the pain you caused me.”

The heat of your fury presses down on her, forcing her back into the couch. Her sharp tongue falters, her bravado slipping just enough for you to see it: the crack in her armor, the shadow of fear in her eyes.

“Give me one good reason,” you hiss, venom drenching your tone, “why I shouldn’t end this now. Why I shouldn’t take everything from you the way you took everything from me.”

“Because you still love me.”

Five words, and everything you’ve built comes crashing down.

It festers like an old wound torn open, flesh ripped apart to reveal something gory beneath, bleeding and pulsing. It’s a visceral pain that feels like it might consume you whole, a dark, twisting ache that blooms in your chest and radiates outward.

Your grip on your magic falters, and for a fleeting second, you see her as she was all those years ago—the woman who once held your heart in her hands, who kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered.

The memory bleeds into the present, stark and jarring, clashing with the image of the woman before you now. She’s still breathtaking, but there’s a hollowness in her now, a shadow where the fire used to burn brightest. 

The contrast churns something bitter and broken inside you—resentment, grief, yearning, perhaps all three at once. It’s unbearable, the way the past and present collide, leaving you adrift in the space between what was and what is.

You force yourself to recoil, your magic snapping back to you as if burned. 

“Love?” you spit, the word a venomous hiss that cuts through the charged air between you. “You think I could still love you after everything you did? I fucking hate you, Agatha.”

Her laughter startles you—a sharp, bitter sound that carries no joy, only a rawness that sinks deep under your skin. It’s the laugh of someone who’s long since made peace with their own destruction.

“Hate’s just love that’s been shattered to pieces.” she says, her voice cracking, the edges sharp enough to draw blood. “And we both know you’ve been holding onto those shards for decades.”

You want to deny it, to unleash every ounce of fury you’ve carried for all these years, to rip her apart for daring to speak such a painful truth aloud.

But you can’t.

And it’s in this moment of hesitation, of vulnerability, that the rage in your chest shifts—twisting into something far more dangerous.

The bond between you roars, electric and alive, as if responding to your emotions. It’s always been there, tethering you to her no matter how much you tried to sever it. And now, it’s pulling you closer, wrapping around you like dense smoke.

It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating. And you fucking missed it.

Even bound and powerless, Agatha looks at you as if she’s still in control, as if the years of pain and betrayal you’ve carried mean nothing.

Her eyes narrow, a glint of recognition flashing in that unnervingly sharp gaze. She sees it, she feels it, the way her words have struck a nerve. And, of course, she pounces on it.

“What’s the matter, hon?” she purrs, her voice a sickeningly sweet mockery of concern. “Can’t decide whether to kill me or fuck me?”

The words land like a match to gasoline, igniting a fire it’s far too late to extinguish. The line you’ve been toeing shatters, and before you can stop yourself, you close the final distance between you in one swift movement, your hand wrapping around her throat as you press her back against the couch. 

Her smirk doesn’t leave her lips—if anything, it deepens, her breath catching just slightly as her eyes gleam with something dark and infuriatingly pleased.

You can feel her pulse under your fingertips, quick and unsteady, and it only feeds the chaos roiling inside you.

“You don’t get to say that.” you hiss, leaning closer until your face is inches from hers. “You don’t get to act like this is a game.”

“And what if it is?” she murmurs, her voice low, almost daring. “What if that’s all we’ve ever been?”

The anger in your chest twists, warping into something raw and untamed. You hate her. You want her. The two emotions bleed together, inseparable, consuming.

Your grip on her throat tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who has the power now. She doesn’t fight you, but she doesn’t look away either.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.” you say, your voice shaking with the weight of everything you’ve held back. “No idea what it’s been like to carry this—this anger, this pain, this fucking bond I can’t escape.”

Of course, you don’t expect her to apologize, she never would, but the flicker of regret in her eyes is louder than words.

The bond between you hums again, relentless and unyielding, pulling you closer even as you try to resist. You do hate her, but you also can’t deny the way her presence calls to you, the way her magic—even diminished—feels like a part of you.

“Why, Agatha?” you demand, your voice breaking as you lean in closer. “Why did you leave? Why did you—”

She cuts you off by brushing her lips against yours in the barest hint of contact. It’s not a kiss, not yet, but it steals the breath from your lungs all the same. 

As her breath mingles with yours, the world collapses to the infinitesimal space between your lips, a charged, aching void that demands to be closed.

And then, as if honoring that demand, she closes the distance. 

Her lips crash onto yours in a kiss that isn’t tender—it’s a storm, a battle, a clash of wills. Her mouth moves against yours with a desperation that feels like surrender, but there’s no mistaking the way she bites at your lower lip, as if daring you to take more.

You growl low in your throat, the sound vibrating against her lips as your hands find her hips, pinning her harder against the couch. She arches into you, her body a perfect, infuriating fit against yours, and the bond between you flares alive, pulling you deeper into the chaos of her.

Her tongue meets yours, and it’s molten—hot and demanding, tangled in a rhythm that feels like a fight for dominance neither of you is willing to lose. The couch creaks beneath you as you press her down, your weight covering hers completely, your hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her gasp into your mouth.

This isn’t forgiveness. It isn’t reconciliation. It’s unfiltered emotion, punishment and possession, everything you’ve bottled up for decades exploding in a collision of anger and desire that leaves no room for restraint.

With a flick of your wrist, her clothes dissolve into shimmering wisps of magic, vanishing like smoke into the air. What’s left behind steals the breath from your lungs despite every part of you screaming not to react, not to let her affect you like this.

The sight of Agatha’s bare body, a masterpiece of soft curves and sharp angles, reignites memories you thought you’d buried—the way her skin once felt beneath your hands, how her body moved in perfect synch with yours, every sound she made etched into your soul.

It’s been decades since you last saw her like this, but time has done nothing to dull her power over you. 

Your pulse thunders in your ears, heat spreading like wildfire through your veins as your gaze trails over her, lingering on the lines of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the way her thighs tremble ever so slightly.

She’s bound and powerless in every possibile sense of the words, yet somehow she still holds the upper hand.

Her lips curl into the faintest smirk as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. “Still as easy to impress as ever, I see.”

The words snap you out of your trance, a surge of irritation mingling with the desire coursing through you. 

With another flick of your wrist, ropes of magic coil around her wrists, pulling them together and suspending them above her head. The glowing bonds crackle with energy, casting faint light over her bare skin. 

Her smirk falters, just slightly, as she tugs against the restraints, her muscles flexing in defiance and testing their hold.

And it’s that—that small attempt at resistance, her futile struggle against the bonds you’ve created—that makes something snap inside you. 

It’s not just power—it’s the realization that she, the woman who’s haunted your every waking thought and dream, is finally yours to control. The intensity of it almost scares you, the way it spreads through your chest like spilled ink, staining every corner of your mind in pitch black.

It’s a visceral, consuming need to claim her, to fill her, to mark her in a way that will sear into her soul, leaving no room for doubt or escape. The hunger burns through you, fierce and unrelenting, every ounce of your power thrumming with it, shaping itself into something tangible, something undeniable.

Your lower clothing dissolves into shimmering magic, leaving you partially bare—but not fully. The vulnerability of complete nakedness is a luxury you can’t afford. Not right now. Not with Agatha. You want the contrast to be stark—her, stripped of everything, exposed and powerless beneath you, while you remain in control. It’s a statement, a reminder, that here, now, you’re the one with the upper hand.

And then, as though summoned by your need, the strap materializes. And it’s not just magic—it’s a part of you, an extension of your body. 

The weight of it settles against your hips, grounding you, the connection immediate and intimate, as if it’s always been there.

Your gaze drops for a moment, drawn to the way your cock stands proud and commanding, and a smirk tugs at your lips. You take in its size, the thick, substantial girth that demands attention. You make no effort to hide your satisfaction as your hand wraps firmly around its base, stroking it in slow, deliberate movements that make your intent unmistakable.

Agatha’s eyes widen, her own gaze falling to your cock before flicking back to your face. Her lips part slightly, and her tongue darts out to wet them in a motion so instinctive, so sinful, that it sends a fresh jolt of heat through you.

For once, she seems utterly at a loss for words, the sharp wit you’ve come to expect from her silenced by the weight of the moment, and by you.

“Speechless?” you ask, your tone dripping with mockery. “Not like you.”

“Well,” she manages, clicking her tongue, her voice laced with an edge of forced confidence, “you’ve certainly… outdone yourself.”

You press the tip against her thigh, watching as her body tenses and her breath hitches. Slowly, teasingly, you trail it upward, letting it graze her glistening folds but never quite giving her what she wants. 

You see all of her defiance falter the second you tap the tip against her clit. You do it multiple times, teasing her until she’s a panting mess, her chest heaving as her body completely betrays her. 

And yet, her eyes stay locked on yours, burning with a mix of frustration and longing.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your hand sliding back to her throat, wrapping around it just enough to keep her grounded. Her pulse races beneath your fingers, and you feel her body relax into your touch, her submission becoming more evident with every passing second. “You’re supposed to be the powerful one, remember? The one who’s always in control. How does it feel to be at my mercy?”

She doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, a broken moan escapes her lips as you finally push the tip of your cock into her. The sensation shoots through you like lightning, raw and electric, and you can’t stop the low hum that escapes your lips.

“So wet for someone who acts like she’s above it all.” you say, your voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Tell me, Agatha—do you always get this needy when you’re powerless? Or is it just for me?”

Her cheeks flush, and she glares at you, but the humiliation in her eyes only makes your smirk deepen. She tilts her hips toward you in an attempt to take more, the motion drawing a smug chuckle from your throat.

“Pathetic.” you mock, “You used to have me on my knees, begging for you. And here you are now, so desperate for my cock you can’t even hide it.”

Her lips part in a sharp, trembling intake of breath, her chest rising and falling as her wrists strain futilely against the glowing restraints above her head. 

“You think you’re in control now?” she spits, though her voice trembles. “That this makes you powerful?”

You laugh, cold and merciless, leaning in until your breath fans across the shell of her ear. 

“Oh, I don’t think.” you whisper, your words nothing but a cruel taunt. “I know.”

To drive the point home, you push deeper, and the wet, obscene sound of her body yielding to you fills the room. 

She’s molten, deliciously tight, and her slick heat draws you in like a drug. Every inch you sink into her feels like a conquest, you can feel how her body stretches to take you, how her walls tremble and clench around the pleasurable intrusion, pulling you deeper as if begging for more. 

The sensation is so vivid, so overwhelming, that a loud, unrestrained moan tears from your lips.

“Seems like I’m not the only needy one.” she murmurs, her voice trembling but cutting nevertheless. “Such pretty sounds for me.”

Her words strike a nerve, and the moment they register, your hips snap forward in one sharp, punishing thrust, driving the strap so deep your hips collide with hers. 

The impact sends a jolt through both of you, her sharp cry echoing through the air before it’s cut off as your fingers tighten around her throat.

“Is that what you wanted? Mmh?” you hiss, your voice trembling with the effort to stay in control. “To be fucked like this? To feel what it’s like to be under me for once?”

She doesn’t respond, her voice swallowed by a series of breathless moans as you pull back and thrust in again, setting a slow, languid rhythm that feels more like a claim than a motion. 

You want to break her—but not physically. Even now, even with the all this anger coursing through you, the thought of truly hurting her is unthinkable. You know you’re big, and despite everything, you couldn’t forgive yourself if you let the fury bleeding into your movements cause her pain.

Instead, you pour that intensity into control, into precision, into the way you angle your hips just right to drag your length against every sensitive spot inside her. The sound of her wetness grows louder with each thrust, mingling with the faint creak of the couch beneath you.

“Gods.” you murmur, your free hand gripping her hip to steady yourself. “You feel that, don’t you? How wet you are for me? How much you want this?”

Her head nods slightly, the motion almost instinctive, as if her body answers before her mind has time to process, before the final syllable of your last question even hangs in the air.

“Yes—fuck.” she whispers, the word trembling on her lips. “Yes, I—”

“Louder!” you command, your tone sharp as you feel it—a fresh gush of wetness enveloping you, slick and hot, pulling you in. 

“Yes!” she screams, her voice cracking under the weight of her need. “I want it—I want you.”

Her admission is a spark to the inferno raging inside you, and you give in to it, your magic surging wildly. 

Your pace quickens, your hips snapping forward with growing intensity, each thrust deeper and harder than the last, the slap of your hips against hers a relentless cadence of possession that blends with her cries.

Her wrists pull at the restraints while her back arches and her moans rise higher, each one a testament to your power over her, a surrender you claim with every punishing thrust.

Your gaze drops involuntarily, drawn to the mesmerizing rhythm of her breasts bouncing in time with your movements, and the sight instantly makes your mouth water. The memory of their softness, the way they felt against your tongue and lips, rushes back unbidden, igniting a primal urge to lean down and take one into your mouth.

But you catch yourself, clenching your jaw against the temptation. This isn’t about her pleasure. You’re not here to make her enjoy herself. You’re here to ruin her, to make her crumble under your control.

“Fuck, don’t stop.” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Your eyes snap back to hers, a wicked grin spreading across your lips as your grip on her throat loosens, your hand sliding down to join the other on her hips. With both hands anchoring her in place, your pace grows ruthless, each thrust drawing louder and more desperate sounds from her.

Her walls tighten around you, squeezing your cock as the connection between you deepens, your magic tangling with hers in a way that feels both chaotic and inevitable.

And then, just as you feel teetering on the edge of release, you pull back, slowing to a maddening pace. 

Your thrusts become shallow, deliberate teases that barely fill her, leaving her gasping and writhing beneath you. Her frustration is palpable, her hips bucking in search of relief, but you hold her steady, a cruel smirk curling your lips.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” you purr, each word dripping with satisfaction. “Just say the word, Agatha. Beg me, and I’ll let you come.”

Her body tenses beneath you, every muscle taut as she fights the command with everything she has, struggling to cling to the last fleeting semblance of control. Even as her thighs quiver and her hips twitch uncontrollably, her pride holds her back, refusing to surrender to you so easily.

But as each thrust reminds her of what she’s being denied, drawing out her torment, her nails curl into her palms, her jaw tightens, and her resolve cracks little by little under the relentless pressure. 

Finally, her head tilts back, her voice breaking as the words tear from her throat. “Please—fuck… please, let me come.”

Her words ignite something feral and all-consuming. Power surges through your veins, setting your every nerve ablaze as you answer her desperate plea and resume fucking her with renewed vigor. 

You slam into her with brutal force, each thrust hitting that soft, devastatingly perfect spot inside her that makes her entire body jerk beneath you. Her eyes roll back, her cries turning into incoherent, panting moans that fuel the raw, insatiable need driving your every motion.

“That’s it.” you growl, your hand sliding down to her clit. You circle it with fast, precise movements, your fingers slick with her arousal as you push her closer to the edge. “Come for me, Agatha. Come on my cock.”

Her moans climb higher, until they peak in a scream that tears through the air as the tension within her shatters all at once. 

Agatha’s orgasm bursts forth like a supernova, bright and devastating, her walls clenching and spasming around you in rhythmic pulses that leave you breathless. She cries out your name, her voice splintering into a sob as her body quakes with the force of her release.

The sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted, her chest heaving as she trembles in the throes of ecstasy—is almost enough to undo you. But you don’t stop. You keep pounding into her, forcing her to take every inch over and over as you drive her higher, helping her ride out each wave of her climax.

And then, as you revel in the way she’s gripping you as though she never wants to let you go, and your own release threatens to overtake you, you falter.  

Because her eyes—half-lidded, blown wide, and dark with need—lock onto yours, piercing through the haze of control you’ve clung to. Her lips part, trembling, and her voice cuts through the storm.

“Fuck—please, baby.” she gasps, each word breaking into a whimper that makes your stomach tighten and your magic throb. “Come inside me. I need it—need to feel it, need you to fill me up.

That’s it. Her words, how she begged for it, the pet name falling so effortlessly from her lips, the raw desperation in her voice, the sheer thought of filling her up with your cum, of watching her take every drop like she’s made for it. It’s all more than enough to tip you over the edge.

How utterly ruined she looks beneath you only adds to it, and whatever fragile grip you had on your restraint shatters instantly, obliterated by the force of her need.

Your hips snap forward in one last devastating thrust, burying your cock into her as deep as it can go, your climax slamming into you like an explosion. 

And then it happens.

The magic within you surges implacably, a relentless flood that erupts deep inside her in thick, scorching waves. Each pulse of your cock forces more of your release into her, a molten rush that fills her completely. The bond between you roaring with life as your magic claims her from the inside out, leaving no part of her untouched.

Beneath you, Agatha’s body goes taut, her back arching violently as the blue in her eyes gets rapidly swallowed by a swirling, familiar, luminous purple. 

You can feel her magic pouring back into her, she gasps as it all overtakes her, her body trembling violently as another orgasm tears through her. But this one is unexpected, different, and even more powerful than the first. 

Her cry pierces the air, a sound of pure ecstasy and unrestrained power, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. It’s primal, otherworldly, and devastatingly beautiful. For a moment, you’re left breathless, unwillingly captivated by the sight of her. A vision that makes something inside you ache.

When the final waves of pleasure subside, you collapse onto her, your breath ragged, your body trembling with exhaustion and the lingering hum of magic. 

The restraints on her wrists dissolve, fading into shimmering sparks, and her hands hover for a moment, uncertain, before they settle gently on your back.

Her touch is light, not hesitant but careful, as though rediscovering something long lost. And as your bodies press together, it feels as if no time has passed at all since you last lay in each other’s arms.

Agatha’s chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, her lips parted as her hooded eyes lock onto yours.

Her gaze is a labyrinth, a tangle of emotions so layered and profound it’s impossible to unravel. There’s no trace of defiance, no smugness, no sharp wit lurking in the corners. Instead, disbelief and shock hum beneath the surface, while a glimmer of something softer—gratefulness, maybe even devotion—burns faintly. And yet, woven through it all is an aching, unguarded longing.

It’s a silent confession wrapped in questions, and the absence of her usual masks, the sheer vulnerability staring back at you, stirs something deep in your chest, a feeling too overwhelming to even begin to name.

As you pull out of her, you catch how her hips twitch instinctively at the sudden emptiness, and the sound she makes—a quiet, needy whine—makes your breath hitch. 

The cock dissolves in a flicker of shimmering light, fading back into the ether, but your eyes remain fixed on what it left behind.

You watch your cum drip from her, thick and glistening as it slides slowly down her folds. The sight is mesmerizing and utterly filthy, making a new rush of heat coil low in your stomach. 

Agatha notices the shift in your gaze, lazily tilting her head to follow it. When she sees what’s caught your attention, a smug grin spreads across her face, equal parts infuriating and intoxicating.

“Hmm.” she hums, her voice a sultry drawl that sends shivers down your spine. “You always did know how to leave an impression, darling.” 

She pauses, her grin deepening as her eyes flick back to yours, gleaming with sharp amusement. “Though I must say, I never expected to get my powers back this way… not that I’m complaining.”

As soon as you register her words your jaw clenches, a flush rising to your cheeks as frustration surges through you. 

That wasn’t supposed to happen. The thought echoes in your mind, relentless and deafening. You didn’t plan this—hell, you didn’t even know you could do that, and the realization leaves you stunned, reeling. 

You came here to break her, to strip her of whatever scraps of control she had left, to show her just how worthless she was without her power. You came here to make her pay.

But instead, as always, in the end, Agatha got exactly what she wanted. 

The smugness etched into her face says it all. It’s infuriating. Humiliating. Maddening. Everything always plays out in her favor, no matter how the odds stack against her. The universe itself seems to bend for her, conspiring to deliver her victory, while you’re left choking on the ashes of your intentions.

And yet, even in your frustration, there’s a selfish, shameful flicker of satisfaction burning in your chest. You gave her back her power, yes—but you did it your way. Intimate. Indelible. Something neither of you can ignore or undo. 

No matter how powerful she becomes again, no matter how she wields what’s been restored, she’ll always know who gave it back to her and how. She’ll owe you, whether she admits it or not.

In that way, you did make her pay. And the twisted irony of it feels like a cruel, bitter triumph.

Agatha notices the shift in your expression, the way your gaze has drifted into the distance as if lost in thought, and her voice slices through the haze with a softness that catches you completely off guard.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this.” she whispers, her tone impossibly gentle, like a secret meant only for you. ”When you’re all mine.”

Her words land like a jolt, anchoring you back to the present and cutting through the fog in your mind. 

There’s something in her voice, an aching sincerity you didn’t expect, that makes something deep inside you twist painfully.

But even if her tenderness disarms you, it still strikes a nerve, clashing violently with the anger and resentment still simmering beneath your skin. You cling to that anger desperately, using it to shield yourself from the confusion clawing at the edges of your control and threatening to drag you under.

“I’m not yours.” you snarl, but the words lack conviction, and you know she hears it.

Her grin returns, sharper now, as if she’s savoring your futile resistance. 

“Oh, darling…” she whispers, her voice dripping with equal parts confidence and affection. “You’ve always been mine.”

You open your mouth to reply, to hurl another retort that might restore some semblance of control, but the words die on your tongue as her hand moves with startling speed. 

Her fingers curl around the back of your neck, her grip firm yet trembling, and she pulls you down roughly, her lips crashing against yours before you can resist.

The kiss is instant chaos, scattering your thoughts like leaves in a storm. Her tongue slides against yours, hot and insistent, tangling and teasing with a fervor that steals the air from your lungs. 

It’s wet, messy, the taste of her flooding your senses as she kisses you with the same confident, consuming intensity she always did. 

But beneath the confidence, there’s something unspoken. 

It’s in the way her body shudders beneath you, in the way her fingers dig into your neck, in the way her lips cling to yours as though letting go might unravel her completely. The vulnerability in her touch and the aching need in her kiss cut through the haze of anger, leaving you trembling and unsure whether the ache blooming in your chest is pain, longing, or both.

But right now, whatever it is you’re feeling, you refuse to linger on it. 

You won’t allow her another second of your time, your presence. The very air around her feels oppressive, making it harder to breathe, and you know that if you stay a moment longer it will be too late to resurface.

With all the strength and willpower you can muster, you push yourself up, breaking away from her touch and from her warmth. 

You wave a hand, conjuring back your underwear and pants in a blur of hasty magic, your movements jerky and unsteady while every fiber of your being screams at you to put distance between yourself and her. To leave.

Suddenly, the bond hums again, loud and persistent, gnawing and mocking at your resolve. You grit your teeth and force yourself to ignore it, taking a couple of steps toward the door, refusing to look back. 

You’ll leave. You need to leave. You want to leave.

But with Agatha, it’s never that easy.

“Wait.”

It’s not a command. It’s not teasing or smug. It’s quiet, almost unsure, and that alone makes you hesitate.

You glance back over your shoulder, your voice sharp with all the frustration burning hot in your chest. “What could you possibly want now?”

She sits up slowly, still completely naked, making no effort to conjure clothes with the magic now thrumming through her.

“Answers.” she says, her tone smooth but tinged with a sly undertone, her gaze locked on yours with unnerving steadiness. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To finally hear the truth you think I owe you.” 

She pauses, her lips curving into a faint, almost teasing smile as her eyes flick downward to her still-bare body. “Especially after… this.” Her eyes return to yours, glinting with amusement. “I suppose it’s only fair.”

You fold your arms across your chest, your anger warring with the pull of her words. 

“You owe me more than answers.” you bite back, your voice cutting and cold. “You owe me years of my life, years of trying to understand why you left.”

“And you’ll have them.” her voice softer now, almost disarming. “But not like this.”

Your eyes narrow, suspicion curling in the pit of your stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She rises slowly, her movements deliberate as she closes the distance between you. Her nakedness robs her of nothing—if anything, it sharpens her power, her control. 

When she reaches you, her hand lifts to cup your cheek, her touch infuriatingly warm, a silent challenge wrapped in unsettling intimacy.

“Stay.” she says, her thumb skimming your skin with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. “We’ll talk. Over dinner. But only if you stay.”

You bristle at the condition, your pride flaring. 

“Using my need for closure as leverage?” you ask, your voice biting. “How very you.”

Her grin returns, sharper now, but her eyes betray a flicker of something gentler. 

“Oh, darling.” she purrs, her voice dripping with confidence, “I know you want this, so, let’s not play pretend. I’d say we’re well past that point, wouldn’t you?”

Your jaw tightens, the weight of her gaze making it hard to hold onto your anger. You hate that she’s right. Hate that you want to stay, that the bond between you has wrapped itself around your heart so tightly you can’t bear to leave.

“Fine. Dinner.” you say, your voice clipped. “But no games, Agatha. You owe me the truth.”

Her smirk deepens for a moment, a glimmer of mischief flashing in her eyes, before softening into a genuine, almost nostalgic smile. 

“No games.” she whispers, her tone unexpectedly gentle. “Just dinner… like old times.”

You shake your head, as if trying to clear the lingering warmth of her touch. But it stays with you as you watch her move toward the kitchen, humming softly to herself.

As you follow her, you can’t help but wonder if staying will be your salvation or your undoing. But with Agatha, it’s never a question of one or the other—it’s always both, tangled together in a way that, after all this time, you’re starting to realize you were never meant to escape.

[little-diable]

The Agreement - Rafe Cameron (smut)

So, this is a new one. But I am so deep down the Rafe and Drew rabbit hole, I just had to write something. This has potentional for more parts, but I will settle on that once I get your reactions on this part 1. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader is new to the area, but it didn't taken long for Sarah's and her ways to cross. But life in the area is expensive, so the reader is in desperate need for someone to support her, perhaps Rafe Cameron, the guy everybody warned her about, is the right guy to help her out. But Rafe Cameron isn't a guy with a soft heart, the devil doesn't make one sided deals.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), sex with a stranger somewhat, sex in an unfamiliar room, spitting, slight choking, degrading, talks about the reader working as a sugar baby

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x fem!reader (3.1k words)

I LIVE for this gif. Jesus.

“Honestly, I am so ready to marry rich and forget about all these payments. Who can even afford to pay for all these things?” A groan left (y/n), head rolling back while she pressed herself further against the mattress of her bed. For a moment she was met with silence, waiting for Sarah to reply, but her friend kept quiet, seemingly deep in thought. 

“Well, maybe it’s time we finally find you someone good. I bet you’d easily find someone fitting at the Country Club.” (Y/n) had to fight against the urge to roll her eyes, Sarah was all too aware of her distaste for all these rich people who only cared about themselves. She was still relatively new to the area but had instantly picked up on the struggles between the pogues and kooks, fights (y/n) desperately wanted to stay away from. 

“Thank you, but I’d rather sell my soul than step a foot into that place.” Sarah’s giggles forced a smile to widen on (y/n)’s lips, knowing that her new friend wouldn’t back down from this discussion.

“Oh c’mon, live a little. But you could also just try to mingle at a party, I guess.” It took (y/n) a moment to think through the idea, especially since she knew she’d feel by far more comfortable at a party rather than at the country club. The hum leaving her drew another giggle from Sarah, already excited about whatever (y/n) may stumble upon.

“I guess I could but only if you join me to figure out if there are any parties worth joining.” She had interacted quite a lot with Sarah Cameron so far, a friendly face she had crossed paths with every now and then when she had first moved here. Something seemed to connect the two of them, something (y/n) couldn’t pinpoint yet but was insanely grateful for nevertheless. 

“Absolutely I’ll text you in a few!”

…

She should have stayed at home, away from all these unfamiliar faces, the alcohol which would undoubtedly leave her massively hungover, and the horrible music she couldn’t endure much longer. So far she still hadn’t crossed paths with Sarah, clinging to the promise that she’d eventually show up with some friends in tow - people (y/n) could click with, according to Sarah at least.

The distaste clung to her face as (y/n) pushed through the crowd of sweaty bodies, trying to stay away from those who looked at her for a few seconds too long. Her feet carried her towards the kitchen, set on pouring herself another drink to at least endure another hour of this party.

With her eyes set on the open cabinet, (y/n) tried to reach for one of the almost empty bottles, weight shifted onto her toes to grasp it - though miserably failing. The exhausted huff clawing through her was swallowed by the sound of a raspy laugh filling the kitchen, forcing her eyes to find a pair of bright ones. 

“C’mon, you almost had it, don’t stop the show now.” The smirk clinging to his lips left her scowling, instantly recognising him, Rafe Cameron, Sarah’s brother. Even though (y/n) hadn’t been around for long, she had picked up on numerous warnings, telling her to stay away from the guy who was followed around by trouble. 

“Fuck off.” Her words made him laugh again, letting the sound ring in her ears while he pushed himself closer. Rafe’s cologne wrapped itself around her, making her heavily swallow the second she felt his front pressed against her back. With one hand finding her waist, he held her close while reaching for the bottle she had tried to grasp. Wordlessly he poured her some of the liquid, letting go of her seconds later, but she stayed quiet, not saying a single word to the smirking guy.

“Where’s my thank you? Or is cursing the only thing you can do?” Rafe leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed in front of his chest. Her eyes couldn’t help but find his bulging muscles, hating that he was that handsome while she had promised others she’d stay away from him. 

“I don’t want to further inflate your ego, Cameron.” (Y/n) tried to push past Rafe, though without any luck. His bright eyes wandered over her features, grinning down on the frowning girl. His hands kept holding onto her, settling on her waist as if they had crossed paths numerous times before, more familiar with one another than they let on. 

“I can see why you haven’t found many new friends so far, (y/n).” A scoff left her as she tried to push him away, though without any luck. Anger began to bubble deep inside of her, wondering how she could get rid of the devilish handsome guy. But Rafe seemed all too comfortable with their closeness, looking at her like a predator ready to snap, already high on her blood he’d feast from any second now. “What’s your problem with me, huh?” “I have no problem with you, Rafe. Let me go.” He clicked his tongue before letting it run along his lower lip, a motion she couldn’t help but stare at, eyes following his every movement. 

“What did my sister tell you about me?” His thumb began to move, softly stroking along the silver of skin her top showed off. Goosebumps covered her arms, something (y/n) could only curse at, hating her body for feeling that drawn towards him. Sarah had told her all those gruesome stories about him, a psychotic guy she should desperately try to stay away from – and yet something intrigued (y/n), something she couldn’t shake.

“Drugs, guns, whoring around, the list is long, and I really don’t want to catch anything from you.” She shot him a sickly sweet smile before finally pulling herself free. Without giving Rafe the chance to stop her, (y/n) managed to disappear from his sight, finding shelter in another spot of the mansion. Her heart was racing in her chest, beating faster than probably ever before. 

Sarah’s words kept hallowing in her mind, sharply reminding her of the bad news following Rafe Cameron around, words that began to lose their importance when her eyes were drawn back to his bright ones. They held contact as she drowned her drink in one go, still feeling his hands on her body as if he had burned his touch into her skin. Her breath got hitched in her chest as Rafe began to move, seemingly set on speaking to her again – and yet he didn’t get far, forced to watch his sister find (y/n) first, pulling her outside. 

“I was looking for you, I want to introduce you to some people.” Sarah clung to (y/n)’s side as she led her to the pool area, introducing her to people whose names she didn’t pick up on, still thinking of Rafe. Sarah’s words from this morning reached her again, overthinking their plan of (y/n) finding a guy to keep around at a party like this, a plan she had to scoff at now.

“Sarah told us you’re currently working as a surf instructor around here, would you want to go surfing with us tomorrow morning?” A blonde guy smiled at her, forcing her to focus for a second. The cap he wore only showed off a few of his strands, enough for her to pick up on how cute he looked. She was close to denying, wanting to spend the morning sleeping in, but the way Sarah squeezed her wrist forced a soft “Sure” out of (y/n). 

She didn’t listen to the other things the group shared, feeling a pair of eyes on her. Slowly, (y/n) let her gaze wander, finding Rafe looking at her from one of the windows. He raised his brows in an almost mocking manner, taking a sip of his drink as if he was daring her to find her way back to him. She rolled her eyes at him, and yet she stepped away from Sarah a moment later, murmuring something about having to find the bathroom. 

Rafe was back at her side the second she stepped into the house, pulled through the room by the hand finding hers. The loud music momentarily managed to drown out her racing thoughts, thoughts that were completely silenced the second she found herself pushed into a dark room, front pressed against Rafe’s.

“Is this one of your famous tactics? Pulling girls you don’t know into dark ro-,” she didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence, interrupted by the feeling of Rafe’s lips finding hers. Even though her first instinct was to push him away, she didn’t find the want to do it, instead (y/n) chased his lips, swallowing the raspy chuckle leaving Rafe.

She was all too aware of the way Rafe’s eyes had followed her around for the past weeks, trying to find the right moment to speak to her whenever he was at the beach with his friends or when she met friends near the club. Late at night he’d stroke his cock to the thought of her, painting the screen of his phone white while looking at her pictures, only further fuelling his obsession with her. Something about (y/n) stuck to Rafe, perhaps it was the fact that she was all too oblivious to the struggles they all had faced for the past months, perhaps it was the fact that she didn’t seem to give a shit about him, whatever it was, he needed to get his hands on her. 

Without breaking the kiss, Rafe led her to the bed, plopping down on it with her falling into his lap. Their tongues got tangled, brushing together while his warm hands found their way underneath her shirt, feeling her tremble in his grasp. His name rolled off her tongue as (y/n) needed a second to breathe, high on the feeling of him kissing his way down her throat.

Her mind screamed at her, asking her what the hell she was doing, and yet her body didn’t seem to care. Rafe Cameron had pulled her into his trap, unable to rip herself free while slowly letting him in. She didn’t protest as he pulled her shirt over her head, didn’t protest as his lips found her right nipple, softly biting and sucking on the soft skin before finding the other. 

“Fuck, we shouldn’t do this.” For a second he froze at her slightly panicked words, waiting for her to say something else, to push him away. But (y/n) didn’t find the strength to pull herself free, tugging on his golden strands to reconnect their lips, allowing him to shift them around to press (y/n) against the mattress. It felt as if her body was on fire, set ablaze by his touch, by the way he towered over her and looked at her as if she was the prettiest sight he had ever set his eyes on. 

“Breathe, sweetheart, let me do this.” Rafe kissed his way down her stomach, pulling her shorts and soaked panties down her legs to settle between her thighs. The moan that left him the second he brushed his tongue through her slit made her arch her back, pushing herself further against his mouth. Rafe’s eyes were set on her pleasure-drunken features, watching her get lost in the sensation. 

“Fuck, Rafe.” (Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut, hands finding his hair to hold him close. It had been a while since she had last been with someone, no longer used to feeling this alive. His thumb circled her pulsing bundle, tongue slowly fucking into her tightness to push her further towards the edge. No longer was her mind racing, no longer did (y/n) find herself overthinking this situation, solemnly focused on Rafe’s skilled touch.

“Look at you, pretty girl, at the mercy of a guy you claim not to like.” It was clear that he enjoyed this all too much, smirking up at (y/n) who couldn’t reply to his teasing words. She was desperate to cum, to let go with his name rolling off her tongue like a prayer spoken in a need of guidance. 

He put his mouth back on her heat, sucking on her clit while he pushed two of his long fingers into her, fucking her with his fingers curled against her swollen spot. Another moan clawed its way out of (y/n), reverberating through the dark room, a sound so sweet Rafe couldn’t help but groan against her skin. The sound was enough to push her over the edge, cumming on his tongue with a call of his name. 

Rafe’s fingers fucked her through her high, enjoying the sight of her trembling body, watching her fall apart with his bright eyes that had slowly adjusted to the darkness. Only when she loosened her grip on his hair did Rafe move up her body again, pressing a kiss to her slightly swollen lips which allowed (y/n) to taste herself on his tongue.

“Will you let me fuck you, (y/n)?” She was spaced out, and yet her mind was still clear enough to pick up on his words. A moan left her before she could stop the sound from making it past her lips, set on the same goal as Rafe. His ringed fingers rested on her throat, keeping a tight grasp on her, “Gonna need you to speak up, use your words.” 

“Fuck me, Rafe, please.” It was all he needed to hear, momentarily letting go of her to pull his shirt over his head, to free his hard cock from the confines of his trousers, and to pull a condom down his length. She forced herself up on her forearms, resting her weight on them to watch him tower over her. Their eyes held contact as Rafe pushed into her, letting his cock spread her tight walls.

For a second, neither of them moved, allowing their bodies to adjust before Rafe began to fuck her with a faster growing rythm. With one hand resting on the pillow next to her head, he kept himself balanced while the other found its way back to her throat. She stared up at him, fully at his mercy as if the devil himself was fucking her, forcing her to accept that she had just gambled with her soul and lost it to him. 

His thrusts were ferocious, hips meeting hers with every movement, drawing sinful sounds from the both of them. Rafe’s thumb tapped against her lip, forcing (y/n) to open her mouth – seemingly understanding what he was about to do. He stared down at her as he spat onto her tongue, making her swallow his saliva without protesting once, finding the way he was claiming her too hot to fight against it. 

“I should have fucked that tight cunt of yours the first time I laid my eyes on you.” Rafe’s rasped out words left her gasping, eyes rolling back into her head for a second. His words had an instant effect on (y/n), letting her stuttering breaths break out of her as if she hadn’t been allowed to inhale any air for the past minutes. “Such a pathetic little slut, letting the guy others warned you about fuck you. But you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” 

“I am, fuck, you’re so good at this, Rafe.” She no longer cared about his way too big ego, didn’t care about how desperate she sounded, solemnly focused on her second nearing orgasm. One of her hands found her pulsing bundle, circling it while her free hand moved up his naked back, feeling his muscles tense beneath it.

“Beg for it, baby, let me hear how desperate you are to cum on my cock.” Another moan left her, and another as his thrusts met the spot that made her choke. It took (y/n) a second to find her voice, blabbering a few incoherent begging words before finding her strength.

“Please, let me cum, fuck, I need it, Rafe.” He chuckled against her lips, once again picking up his speed before a raspy “Cum” found its way to her. She choked on her moans, sobbing his name while he followed her down the edge seconds later, moaning into their kiss. 

Heavy breaths left them both, clinging to one another without speaking for a moment or two. Only slowly did he let go of her, pulling away to throw the condom into the trash. (Y/n) watched him move around, redressing while he seemed deep in thought, no longer wearing that arrogant smirk she secretly loved. 

“I heard what you talked about with Sarah this morning.” Rafe had his eyes focused on her, eyebrows furrowed as if he struggled to find the right words. She didn’t say anything at first, dressing herself before plopping back down on the bed. “About bills and payments and all that shit.” 

“Mhm, what about it?” Her tone had something almost bored to it, not daring to let him in on the panic that slowly began to simmer inside of her. She shouldn’t care about what he was thinking of her, even though he had just fucked her better than any other guy she had been with so far. 

“I have a proposition for you, an arrangement if you want. You need someone to help with your bills and I need someone I can trust by my side for all these galas and events I need to show up at, someone to fool partners with.” A humourless laugh left (y/n) at his words, not daring to believe the words Rafe had just spoken. 

“I knew you were an asshole, but I don’t need you to fuck with me like that, Cameron.” She rose to her feet, set on fleeing from this room, but Rafe didn’t let her, hand snapping down on her wrist like it had back in the kitchen. 

“It’s the truth, Sarah seems to like you for whatever reason, and even though her people skills are fucked, I fear she may be right with this one.” His words had a strange undertone to them, a desperation that made her halt for a second. (Y/n) let her eyes wander over his features, studying Rafe who stared at her with an unreadable expression. 

“Do you really mean that? You’d pay me for making you, what? Look good at events? Would I be like a sugar baby?”

[dumplingsjinson]

List of random dialogue prompts (pt. 2)

“If you felt want and longing the way I did — the way I still do — I promise you’d be driven fucking mad.”

“I wanted the thrill of the chase more than I wanted you.” 

“You really couldn’t have been any more obvious.” “That’s because I didn’t have anything to hide. I was being obvious, because I needed you to know, without a doubt, that I love you.” 

“This is literally the worst moment for me to be saying this but considering how we could die at any second, I need to get this off my chest before I become buried six feet under, without a chance to say any of this to you: I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids. I’ve loved you every second of my life; from the moment when I knew what loving someone really meant.” 

“I kinda knew I lost all feelings for you when I realised I didn’t want to communicate with you about the problems that were happening between us. I became complaisant.” 

“Loving you is as easy as overthinking everything.” 

“It’s… easy with you. Nice. I don’t have to be someone else to impress you, because I know you love me for me.”

“There are parts of me I’d never thought I’d show to anyone else, but then… You came along, and for some reason, you made me want to be honest with you; bare my soul to you.”

“So what in the hell are we? I’m not doing this unless we’re on the same page.” 

“Please don’t tell me we’re nothing to you… That I mean nothing after everything’s that happened.”

“You’re my emotional support human, and I love you so, so much.”

“If you ever need me, I’ll be right here. Just as I’ve always been.” 

“I’d let you break my heart, if it means I’d get to have you for even a day.” 

“You make me feel like dancing in the pouring rain wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” 

“You’re astoundingly unhealthy for me, but do I care? No, because I wouldn’t have fallen if I cared, especially when I’m someone who’s usually so careful with whom I give my heart to.”

“…I didn’t drunk call you. It wasn’t a drunk call. I called you, perfectly sober.” 

“You’re someone I want to tell things to.”

“What’s more important to me is that I’m your last love.” 

“This… This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

“Falling in love wasn’t on the agenda.” “Do you mean falling in love with me out of all people wasn’t on the agenda?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m kind of in love?”

“…I want all of you. On top, under, whatever — I don’t care, I just want you.”

“Maybe I can help you forget about them.”

“It’s easier to pretend I’m still in love with them, than leave them in that state.” “You know you basically lying to them about your feelings is gonna hurt them more in the long run, right?” 

“Why does it have to be them? Why can’t it be me?”

“I’ll give you two seconds to take that back.” 

“You gotta work for it, love.” 

“We can pretend that didn’t happen.” “I’m sorry, but I’m not as good of an actor as you are.”

“I don’t know how to… I’ve never done this before.” “Then follow my lead, okay?”

“I’m someone who falls in love easily, but I’m also someone who can’t get over someone as easily.”

“I want to make this work, because I don’t— I don’t want to— I can’t lose you.” 

“You make me want to be a better version of myself.”

“I don’t wanna mess this up with you.” “You won’t. I promise, you won’t, so just… Do whatever. I trust you.”  

“Why are you smiling at your phone?” “…I was looking at the mail app, and uh… Received some good news?”

“Because love isn’t linear. You know that, right?”

“I’m not doing this for you — I’m doing this for myself.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be that person for you.”

“I’m here to stay. At least until you want me gone, which I hope is never.” 

“Chasing you is like chasing the rainbow… It’s impossible. You’re always slipping away no matter how fast I run after you.”

“Don’t give me that it’s not you, it’s me bullcrap. It’s us both. We’re both at fault for this relationship breakdown.” 

“God, I just like you so, so much.” 

“I think I need to get over you for me to feel better again.” 

“You and your stupid smile… Stop that.” 

“I just need you in me somehow, please—”

“I really hope you realised they were flirting with you.” “…They were?”

“I’ve caught feelings for you, and I know you don’t like me back that way so I just… Wanted to tell you, before I decide to let you go.”

“I’ll be here to pick up the broken pieces if that’s what you want me to do, but I’ll leave if you’re not ready for that… For something more with me.” 

“I love you, but I… I don’t think I see a future with you.” 

“Give me a week. A week, and I’ll be back to normal. A week, and I’ll… I’ll be over you. Just a week and you’ll have the old me back. It’s that easy, I promise.”

“I kinda wanna give myself a concussion so I can forget about you and not think about you twenty-four-seven.” 

(pt. 1) | (pt. 3)

[nmakii]

“DO YOU THINK YOU’LL KILL FOR ME ONE DAY?” YES, OF COURSE I WILL, MY DARLING.

— manipulating yan!alastor + yan!vox was easy. after all, he’s a huge softie for you.

— lots of cursing + sex mention! (vox)

— lol!! after u read voxxy’s part, did u notice i said worse instaf of wordt? im super good at eng! 😈😈

— yan!alastor

you’d been acting out at this club for some time now— breaking property, starting a fight, and even lighting a fire. that last one did it for the owner, he finally banned you from the place, kicking you out indefinitely.

unfortunate, since it was your hangout spot for all kinds of mischief. perhaps— just maybe, there’d be a way to weasel your way back in? or, if not that, at least make him suffer.

a sniff came from you as you teared up, wondering about where else to have your fun. “ohh, my darling, is something the matter? you can tell me, i’ll make that problem go away.” alastor said as he walked into the hotel’s leisure room, his hand patting your back.

you tried to get the words out of your mouth, but it was simply too hard to breathe with the tears that poured down your face. “take your time, my doe… it’s okay.” alastor cooed with a slightly patronizing tone, as if he was the one in control right now.

“s-some club-owner… h-he called me degrading names, and then… he kicked me out…” you frowned at alastor, sniffing every now and then. “my doe, what exactly did he call you?” alastor asked, his voice slightly losing the static as well as having a more sinister edge.

as you listed the names the man had ‘called’ you, alastor pulled you closer to him as his anger began to boil. “it’s alright, my darling. a club with an owner like that is not worth it.” he smiled widely, brushing your hair gingerly before he planted a kiss on your forehead.

“besides, you’ll never see this man ever again. say, what did you say the name of this club was?” he asked before you whispered the club name to him. “i see… well, my little doe, it turns out that i must teach this man a lesson.” alastor stood up as his anger manifested into his body, elongating his limbs.

“you’re gonna kill him on radio? just… be kind… no one deserves a painful death.” you frowned in fake empathy. that fake empathy which would motivate alastor’s anger even more. “oh, dear, you are just too kind for hell. this man disrespected your honor, it’s simply fair that he receives something equally as humiliating.”

his hand rested on your chin, kissing you one last time before he left to find this disrespectful sinner. “now, if you’ll excuse me… someone has to be taught some manners. i assure you, love, that i’ll return by… dinnertime.” he promised before heading out the hotel, prepared to rip this man’s soul out of his body and make an example out of him for any other sinner who even dares to disrespect his little doe.

— yan!vox

are you the problem? nah, couldn’t be possible. if you were the problem, you wouldn’t have this lovely man as your boyfriend, now would you?

“ugh, then that bitch fucking unfollowed me! i don’t even know what i did to that fucker.” you sighed dramatically, frowning to your boyfriend through the facetime. “honestly, i don’t even know what you saw in her. you’re better off without, babe.” vox shrugged.

“and!! you wanna know the worst part?!?” you yelled out, face scrunching in pure dislike. “and what’s that?” vox asked. “that little bitch is yapping all over the city about you and i.” you rolled your eyes.

“ah..? she is? what exactly is she saying?” vox grunted as he glowed in anger. “she was ah… calling me your escort or whatever…” you scowled.

“tch, whatever! i’ll get over it— or, something.” you sighed, falling into your chair, as you closely eyed vox’s expression.

"aha... i'm glad you can let things go so easily, dear... now, i’d love to stay in call a bit longer, but i really have to take care of some important business right now." vox grunted, flying a quick yet lovely kiss to you before he ended the call.

okay, none of that happened— at least most of it didn’t happen. that girl... she was just pretty fucking annoying, always whining about how badly she wants to get fucked, jesus... close your fucking legs for once, yeah?

to be fair, on her own part, she was quite powerful. so, killing her yourself wasn't exactly a good option. instead, why not get your boyfriend to do it?

best case scenario, vox kills her, nothing else. worse case, vox simply hypnotizes her into selling her soul to him. ugh, imagine seeing that bitch's face everyday.

then again, you'd see her all sad and pathetic everyday cause she sold her freedom away.

either way, it's not looking too well for her.

[gyorouis]

𐙚 HEARTSTRINGS.

— "you are mine i am yours, isn't it obvious that there's something one of us wants to admit?"

genre: angst, fluff, bandmates to friends to lovers :>>

pairing: bandmate!beomgyu x afab!reader

warning: swearing, kiss (?), let me know if i forgot anything!

wordcount: 11.8k :>>

now playing: one click straight — mrt ୨ৎ , zild — lia ୨ৎ

if it wasn’t your friend crying to you to join the band, you might have ignored the opportunity altogether. you had heard of the band through chaeyoung, your friend who had harbored a not-so-secret crush on beomgyu for as long as you could remember. she spoke of him with a dreamy look in her eyes, often mentioning his talent and the way he seemed to pour his soul into every note he played.

“he's amazing,” chaeyoung would say, her cheeks flushing slightly. “and so kind. you should see how he treats everyone in the band.”

you nodded along, though your thoughts were often elsewhere, lost in the chords and melodies you created in your room. music had always been your escape, a place where you could express the things words often failed to capture.

one evening, as you sat with chaeyoung at your usual coffee shop, she burst into the room with an excitement you rarely saw in her. she practically bounced over to your table, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and nervous energy. “guess what?” she said, barely able to contain herself. “the band is looking for a new guitarist and vocalist!”

you raised an eyebrow, curious but cautious. “and?”

“and you should totally try out!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. “you’re perfect for it. plus, it would be a great way for me to get closer to beomgyu.”

you chuckled at her transparency. “so this is your grand plan? get me into the band so you can make your move on beomgyu?”

she grinned, unashamed. “exactly. come on, it’ll be fun. and you love playing music. it’s a win-win.”

you sighed, feeling the weight of her request. joining a band was a big commitment, and the thought of performing in front of people made your stomach churn. “i don’t know, chaeyoung. i’m not really a performer. i like playing in my room, where no one can judge me.”

her face fell, and you could see the disappointment in her eyes. “but you’re so talented. it’s a waste to keep all that to yourself. please, just give it a shot. for me?”

you shook your head, standing firm. “i can’t. it’s just too much.”

chaeyoung’s shoulders slumped, and she stared at her coffee cup, her fingers tracing the rim. “i really thought you’d say yes,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “this means a lot to me.”

you felt a pang of guilt, but your mind was made up. “i’m sorry, chaeyoung. i just can’t.”

the next day, chaeyoung showed up at your door, her eyes red and puffy from crying. she looked at you with such desperation that it broke your heart. “please,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “i need this. i need you to help me.”

you were taken aback by her raw emotion. chaeyoung was always so composed, so put-together. seeing her like this, so vulnerable, made you reconsider. “chaeyoung, i… i don’t know if i can do this.”

she grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly. “you can. i know you can. you’re amazing, and this could be such a great opportunity for you. and for us.”

you sighed, feeling the weight of her request. joining a band was a big commitment, but the idea of playing music with others, of sharing that connection, was tempting. besides, you couldn't deny chaeyoung anything when she looked at you with those pleading eyes.

“alright,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i’ll do it.”chaeyoung practically squealed with delight, hugging you tightly. “thank you, thank you, thank you! you won’t regret it, i promise.”

your first encounter with the band took place in their practice studio, a space filled with the rich scent of old instruments and the echo of past performances. when you arrived, beomgyu, yeonjun, taehyun, and kai were already there, their presence creating a lively buzz in the room. the setup was intimate—four chairs arranged in a semi-circle with instruments strewn about, evidence of countless hours spent together.

beomgyu greeted you first, his gaze warm yet scrutinizing. “hey, you must be the new applicant. i’m beomgyu, the bassist.”

you nodded, trying to steady your nerves. “yeah, that’s me. nice to meet you.”

yeonjun, with his easygoing demeanor, flashed a reassuring smile. “i’m yeonjun, the drummer. welcome to the band.”

taehyun, the lead guitarist with an intense focus, gave a nod of acknowledgment. “taehyun. let’s see what you’ve got.”

kai, the youngest and the most energetic of the group, leaned in with a grin. “i’m kai. excited to hear you play!”

as you set up your guitar and adjusted the microphone, the room filled with a quiet anticipation. your heart pounded in your chest as you prepared for your audition. chaeyoung stood by the side, her supportive presence a small comfort amidst your growing anxiety.

you started with a familiar song, one you’d practiced tirelessly in your room. your fingers trembled slightly as you strummed the first chords, your voice wavering but determined. the band members listened intently, their expressions ranging from casual interest to focused concentration.

when you finished, there was a moment of silence. beomgyu broke it with a thoughtful nod. “not bad. your style is different from what we’re used to, but that’s not a bad thing.”

yeonjun added, “i agree. you’ve got potential. it’ll take some time to get used to playing with us, but i think you could fit in.”

taehyun’s gaze was piercing, but there was a hint of approval in his eyes. “we’re looking for someone who can bring something fresh to the table. if you’re up for the challenge, we’d be happy to have you.”

kai, always the enthusiast, clapped his hands. “great job! when can we start practicing together?”

chaeyoung’s eyes sparkled with relief and joy as she hugged you tightly. “see? i told you you’d do great!”

the initial excitement quickly gave way to the reality of integrating into the band. you quickly learned that fitting into their established rhythm was more challenging than you’d anticipated. during the first few practice sessions, you struggled to synchronize with yeonjun’s drumming and taehyun’s lead guitar riffs. your attempts to harmonize with kai’s backing vocals often felt awkward, and you could sense the band’s growing frustration.

one particular practice, as you flubbed a crucial part of a song, yeonjun let out a sigh of frustration. “let’s take that from the top. we need to tighten up.”

beomgyu, sensing your growing frustration, pulled you aside during a break. “hey, don’t worry. it takes time to adjust. let’s work through this together.”

you nodded, grateful for his support. “thanks, beomgyu. i appreciate it.”

over the next few weeks, you and beomgyu spent extra time practicing together. he was patient and encouraging, helping you work through the rough patches. you started to notice a rhythm in your interactions, both musically and personally. he would often tease you about your tendency to overthink and offer playful suggestions to ease your nerves.

one evening, after a particularly successful practice session, you and beomgyu sat on the worn-out couch in the studio, sharing a moment of respite. “so, what made you stick with the band?” you asked, genuinely curious.

beomgyu shrugged, a thoughtful look on his face. “i guess i just enjoy making music with people who challenge me. and you’ve definitely brought a new dynamic to our sound.”

you smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. “i’m glad to hear that. it’s been tough, but i’m starting to feel like i’m finding my place.”

beomgyu’s gaze softened. “you are. and you’re doing great. it’s all about finding the right groove and getting to know each other.”

with each practice session and performance, the bond between you and the band grew stronger. you started to feel more comfortable, both on stage and off. the initial awkwardness of your role began to fade as you settled into the rhythm of the group. the chemistry between you and beomgyu began to blossom, marked by shared laughter, spontaneous jams, and heartfelt conversations.

one evening, after a particularly grueling rehearsal, you all gathered in the studio’s lounge area. the dim lighting cast a warm glow over the room as the band members slumped into the worn-out couches, still buzzing from the energy of the session.

“hey, that last song was fire,” kai said, stretching out his arms. “we really nailed it.”

beomgyu, his bass still resting on his lap, looked over at you with a grin. “yeah, you were killing it tonight. i think we’ve finally hit our stride.”

you felt a flush of pride at his compliment. “thanks. it felt great playing with you guys.”

“i can tell,” beomgyu replied, his smile widening. “you’ve really found your groove. how’s everything been going for you outside the band?”

“busy,” you said with a laugh. “but it’s all good. i’m actually starting to enjoy the chaos.”

“chaos?” beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “sounds like a good story.”

you shrugged. “nothing too exciting. just balancing school and shits, you know how it is.”

the conversation drifted into lighter topics, with beomgyu and you trading jokes and anecdotes. it was moments like these, away from the pressures of practice, that made you realize how much you valued the connection you were building with him and the rest of the band.

chaeyoung’s efforts to get closer to beomgyu became increasingly noticeable. she would often linger after practice, her laughter ringing out in the studio as she shared stories and asked questions about his music. she seemed to be making every effort to draw his attention, her eyes sparkling with admiration.

one evening, chaeyoung caught you off guard as she approached you with a conspiratorial smile. “hey, so, did you notice how beomgyu was totally into that last song we played?”

you chuckled. “yeah, he seemed pretty pumped about it.”

chaeyoung leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “i’m thinking of asking him to grab coffee sometime. you know, just to talk more about his music. what do you think?”

“sounds like a good idea,” you replied, trying to sound supportive even though you felt a pang of discomfort. “i’m sure he’d love to chat more about it.”

“great!” chaeyoung said, her eyes lighting up. “i was hoping you’d help me figure out a good way to ask him. maybe during our next session?”

“sure,” you said with a nod, masking your unease. “i can help.”

despite your efforts to support chaeyoung, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being caught in an awkward middle ground. you found yourself often standing back while chaeyoung and beomgyu engaged in deep conversations, your role feeling secondary. yet, even with this small discomfort, you still cherished the moments when you could connect with beomgyu and the rest of the band.

one evening, as the band wrapped up a particularly intense practice session, chaeyoung seized the opportunity to suggest they all grab dinner together. her tone was casual, but you could sense her underlying intent to include beomgyu in the plans.

“hey, we should all go out for dinner after practice,” she said with a bright, almost conspiratorial smile. “there’s this great new place i’ve been wanting to try. what do you think, beomgyu?”

beomgyu, who was adjusting the strap on his bass guitar, looked up with a thoughtful expression. “sure, that sounds good. i’m always up for trying new places.”

chaeyoung’s eyes lit up with excitement. “awesome! it’ll be fun to hang out outside of practice.”

you hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement. “sounds great. i’d love to join.”

the group made their way to the restaurant, and you found yourself feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity. the place chaeyoung had picked was cozy, with dim lighting and a menu full of intriguing options. as everyone settled into their seats, chaeyoung made a point to sit next to beomgyu, her body angled towards him as she began chatting animatedly about the restaurant’s unique dishes.

“so, have you tried the truffle fries here?” chaeyoung asked, leaning slightly closer. “i’ve heard they’re amazing.”

beomgyu, who was studying the menu, looked up with a smile. “no, but they sound great. i’m definitely down to try them.”

chaeyoung’s excitement was palpable. “perfect! we’ll get a bunch of appetizers to share. oh, and what about your favorite bands, beomgyu? i’m curious to know what kind of music you’re into.”

beomgyu chuckled, clearly enjoying the attention. “i’m into a mix of stuff—rock, jazz, a bit of indie. it really depends on my mood.”

as the evening unfolded, you couldn’t help but notice how chaeyoung maintained close proximity to beomgyu. she’d casually brush against him when reaching for the shared dishes or laugh a little too loudly at his jokes. each time she did, you could see the subtle pleasure in her eyes, and it was clear she was trying to catch his attention.

your own attempts at conversation felt stilted in comparison. you chatted with kai and the others, but whenever you tried to join in the conversation with beomgyu and chaeyoung, it felt like you were intruding. you awkwardly sipped your drink, trying to find a way to fit into the lively exchange.

as the evening progressed, you ended up sitting across from beomgyu. you watched him more closely now, observing the comfortable ease in his demeanor. he seemed genuinely engaged with chaeyoung, listening attentively and responding with thoughtful comments. his laughter was warm, and his eyes sparkled with a genuine interest that made you feel both envious and intrigued.

chaeyoung’s laughter was infectious, and it seemed to draw beomgyu in even more. “so, beomgyu,” she asked, her voice bright, “what inspired you to pick up the bass in the first place?”

beomgyu leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “i’ve always loved the rhythm and the groove. my older brother used to play, and i guess i just wanted to follow in his footsteps. plus, there’s something about the bass that just feels... essential to the music.”

“that’s really cool,” chaeyoung said, her eyes wide with admiration. “i love how passionate you are about it.”

you watched the exchange, feeling a pang of discomfort as you saw how effortlessly chaeyoung connected with beomgyu. you admired his passion, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit sidelined in the conversation.

the evening ended with everyone feeling satisfied and relaxed, the conversations flowing easily. as you all walked back to your respective homes, chaeyoung was buzzing with excitement, clearly thrilled with how the night had gone. you, on the other hand, found yourself lost in thought, as to why you are feeling a sudden thug on your chest upon remembering how close chaeyoung was with beomgyu earlier, and it felt wrong, you should’ve feel this way, not when your bestfriend if finally having more time with her crush.

another day, during a band rehearsal, chaeyoung suggested you help her with a surprise project for beomgyu—a personalized guitar pick. she wanted to give it to him as a gesture of appreciation for all his hard work and dedication. you agreed, though your heart wasn’t fully in it. you couldn’t help but wonder if this was her way of marking her territory, claiming her place in beomgyu’s life.

as you worked on the project together, chaeyoung’s enthusiasm was evident. “i really think this will make him happy,” she said, her eyes shining with hope. “he’s always so dedicated to the band, and this is a small way to show our appreciation.”

you nodded, trying to share in her excitement. “yeah, it’s a nice gesture. he’ll definitely appreciate it.”

when the day finally came to present the gift, chaeyoung was practically bouncing with anticipation. you watched as she handed the guitar pick to beomgyu, her smile radiant with pride. he accepted it with a surprised look, clearly touched by the thoughtful gesture.

“thanks, chaeyoung,” he said, his voice warm. “this is really cool. you didn’t have to, but i appreciate it.”

you could see the way chaeyoung’s eyes sparkled with happiness, but you also noticed the way beomgyu’s gaze lingered on her, a soft smile playing on his lips, and it made your heart twist with a confusing mix of emotions.

despite your efforts to help chaeyoung, you began to notice subtle changes in beomgyu’s behavior towards you. at band practices, his interactions with you became more frequent and personal. what had once been brief exchanges about setlists and practice schedules now turned into longer conversations that delved into more personal territory.

one afternoon, as you were setting up your gear, beomgyu approached you with a thoughtful expression. “hey, i’ve been meaning to ask,” he started, casually leaning against the wall, “what’s your favorite song to play?”

you looked up, a bit surprised by the question. “oh, um, that’s a tough one. i really like ‘wonderwall’ by oasis. it’s got a great vibe.”

beomgyu nodded, his eyes lighting up with interest. “nice choice. i love that song too. the melody is just... it’s so catchy, you know?”

“yeah, exactly,” you replied, feeling a bit more at ease. “what about you? what’s your favorite?”

beomgyu thought for a moment. “i’d have to say ‘under the bridge’ by the red hot chili peppers. there’s something about the way the bass line carries the song that just resonates with me, but if i have to brag to someone, i’d choose any arctic monkey’s song.” he chuckles.

as he spoke, you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze lingered on you, a soft intensity in his eyes that made your heart race. there was a warmth in his expression that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

the change in his behavior wasn’t limited to just band practice. during breaks, he would often find reasons to sit near you, casually mentioning his latest musical experiments or asking for your opinions on new tracks he was working on. his conversations with you were filled with personal anecdotes and stories from his life, and he seemed genuinely interested in hearing about yours.

one evening after practice, as the band packed up, beomgyu casually walked over to where you were putting away your equipment. “so, you mentioned you’re studying music theory. how’s that going?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

you glanced up, surprised by his interest. “it’s going well. it’s a lot of theory and practice, but i’m getting the hang of it. why do you ask?”

“just curious,” he said with a grin. “i’ve always thought about diving deeper into theory myself. it’s fascinating how it all connects.”

you smiled, feeling a sense of connection. “yeah, it is. it’s like uncovering the secrets behind the music.”

“exactly,” beomgyu said, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “hey, i’ve been meaning to ask if you’d like to come to a jam session this weekend. just a few of us hanging out and playing some music. it could be fun.”

your heart skipped a beat. “that sounds awesome. i’d love to.”

“great,” beomgyu said, his smile widening. “i’ll text you the details.”

as the week went on, you found yourself looking forward to the jam session with increasing anticipation. the way beomgyu interacted with you made you feel special, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind his actions.

the jam session arrived, and it was as laid-back and enjoyable as you had hoped. you found yourself immersed in the music, with beomgyu often glancing over at you with a smile that made your heart flutter. during a break, as you all sat around with drinks and snacks, beomgyu casually asked, “so, what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to try musically but haven’t had the chance to yet?”

you thought for a moment. “i’ve always wanted to experiment with producing my own tracks. it seems like a fun way to explore different sounds and styles.”

“that’s cool,” beomgyu said, nodding thoughtfully. “i’ve done a bit of that myself. if you ever want to collaborate or need any tips, just let me know. i’d be happy to help.”

“thanks,” you said, feeling a rush of excitement. “i might take you up on that.”

the evening ended on a high note, with everyone in good spirits and the music flowing effortlessly. as you said your goodbyes, beomgyu lingered a bit longer, his gaze meeting yours with a warmth that made your heart race.

“it was really great having you there tonight,” he said, his voice soft. “i hope we can do it again soon.”

“me too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “i had a lot of fun.”

“awesome,” beomgyu said with a smile. “i’ll see you at practice.”

as you walked home, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting between you and beomgyu. his attention and the personal nature of your conversations left you both exhilarated and curious about where things might lead.

one afternoon, after a particularly intense practice, beomgyu approached you with a small, hesitant smile. “hey, do you have a minute?”

you nodded, feeling a flutter of anticipation. “sure, what’s up?”

he led you to a quieter corner of the studio, away from the others. “i was thinking,” he began, his voice slightly uncertain, “that maybe we could work on a new song together. just the two of us.”

you felt a rush of excitement mixed with apprehension. “m-me? i mean, yeah, w-we could!”

as you worked on the song together, the atmosphere between you shifted. there were moments when your hands brushed, your eyes meeting in shared understanding. beomgyu’s smiles became more frequent, and his laughter seemed to come more easily around you. it was clear that he enjoyed your company and valued your input, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more behind his gestures.

one evening, as you and beomgyu took a break from working on the song, he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “you know,” he said softly, “i’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. you’ve got this way of making everything seem... better.”

you were taken aback, your breath catching in your throat. “thanks, beomgyu. i’ve enjoyed working with you too.”

his gaze lingered, and you could feel the tension in the air. there was a moment of silence before he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m glad you’re here.”

your internal conflict grew more pronounced as these interactions continued. you started to realize that your feelings for beomgyu were deepening, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore them. you found yourself torn between your desire to support chaeyoung and your own growing affection for him.

one evening, as you and chaeyoung were leaving the studio, she turned to you with a hopeful smile. “so, how do you think things are going with beomgyu?”

you hesitated, unsure how to answer. “he’s been really great. we’ve been working on some new music together, and it’s been... good.”

chaeyoung’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. “i knew you’d get along! i’m so glad. do you think he likes me?”

you swallowed hard, the weight of your promise to chaeyoung heavy on your shoulders. “i’m sure he does. he seems to appreciate everything you’ve done for him.”

as you walked away, you felt a deep sense of conflict. the more time you spent with beomgyu, the more your own feelings grew. but you had made a promise to chaeyoung, and the thought of betraying that promise weighed heavily on you.

it was becoming increasingly clear that this situation would be more complicated than you had anticipated. your growing affection for beomgyu and your loyalty to chaeyoung were pulling you in different directions, leaving you to grapple with the tangled emotions that had become an inescapable part of your life.

the band had just wrapped up a particularly intense practice session. the studio, once alive with vibrant energy and the hum of instruments, now felt eerily still and heavy. sweat beaded on your brow as you put away your guitar, your fingers still tingling from the final, emotionally charged chords. the song you’d been working on was deeply emotional, its raw lyrics and haunting melody leaving everyone exhausted yet exhilarated. the last note seemed to linger in the air like a whisper of shared sentiment, an echo of the vulnerability and connection you all had just experienced.

as you wiped your face with a towel, you glanced around the studio and noticed beomgyu watching you from across the room. his usual playful demeanor was replaced by something more intense, almost somber. his eyes, usually bright and mischievous, were now soft and contemplative, their gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

beomgyu approached you as the band members began to pack up, their casual chatter and the clatter of equipment creating a backdrop of normalcy. “you were incredible tonight,” he said, his voice low and almost lost in the noise of the studio. the sincerity in his tone made your heart skip a beat. his eyes held a softness you hadn’t seen before, making it hard to catch your breath.

“thanks, beomgyu,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure. your voice came out softer than you intended, almost betraying the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

the air between you was thick with unspoken words, each of you caught in a delicate dance of emotion. the studio, once a lively hub of activity, now felt like a small, enclosed space where every glance and gesture seemed amplified. as the others began to leave, their conversations fading into the background, beomgyu’s eyes remained locked on yours.

“can we talk?” he asked, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken urgency.

you nodded, your heart pounding as you led him to a quieter corner of the studio. the silence that followed was almost unbearable, filled with the lingering echoes of your previous song. the room seemed to close in around you, the weight of anticipation pressing down on you both. beomgyu’s gaze was unwavering, a mix of vulnerability and resolve that made your own feelings swell.

“w-what do you wanna talk about?” you could feel the tension in the air, thick and charged, as beomgyu took a step closer. his eyes searched yours, seeking something that neither of you could quite name. suddenly, he leaned in, and his lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and probing, as if he were trying to convey everything he felt in that single, fleeting moment. it was a kiss filled with longing, confusion, and an unspoken plea for clarity. the contact was gentle yet electrifying, an exploration of something deeply felt but hard to articulate.

when he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours, asking questions without words. you could see the hope and fear reflected in them, a mirror to your own tumultuous feelings. the silence stretched between you, each of you grappling with the weight of the moment.

“beomgyu...” you began, your voice trembling despite your attempt at calmness. “i can’t, we can’t.”

his brow furrowed in confusion and hurt. “why?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. the pain in his eyes was palpable, and it made your heart ache even more.

“we shouldn’t,” you replied, each word feeling like a weighty anchor dragging you down. the finality in your voice was almost a physical force, pushing him away. the room seemed to contract around you, intensifying the emotional distance that had suddenly opened up between you.

beomgyu’s expression shifted from confusion to hurt, and he took a step back, his shoulders slumping slightly. “i... i thought...”

without waiting for a response, you turned and fled the studio. the dim light of the corridor felt cold against the warmth of the emotions you were trying to escape. your heart pounded in your chest, each step away from him a painful reminder of the feelings you couldn’t fully confront. the echoes of your last moments with beomgyu seemed to follow you, a haunting reminder of what had just transpired.

as you reached the outside, the cool night air did little to calm the storm within you. you leaned against the wall, trying to steady your breathing, but the image of beomgyu’s hopeful eyes lingered in your mind, a painful reminder of what you had just denied.

the next few days were a blur of avoidance and reflection. you found yourself retreating from the band, your absence a noticeable gap in the group's dynamic. rehearsals felt awkward without your presence, the energy of the room slightly diminished. your decision to distance yourself from beomgyu and the band was driven by a chaotic swirl of emotions, leaving you feeling paralyzed and uncertain.

you spent long hours alone, grappling with the confusion and guilt that had taken over your thoughts. the warmth of beomgyu's kiss replayed in your mind, contrasting sharply with the clarity of your decision to pull away. every time you tried to rationalize your feelings, you found yourself trapped in a loop of doubt and self-recrimination.

your avoidance of the band was evident. when kai called you, his voice laced with concern, you made excuses. “i’m just swamped with assignments,” you said one evening, though the truth was far more complex and painful. “i need to catch up on some studying.”

kai’s voice softened, but you could hear the disappointment and worry. “you’ve been MIA for a while. we miss you. is everything okay?”

you hesitated, feeling the weight of her concern pressing down on you. “yeah, just... a lot going on. i’ll be back soon. promise.”

every encounter with beomgyu was now fraught with tension and awkwardness. when you accidentally ran into him in the hallway, you avoided eye contact, your heart racing as you mumbled a quick, “sorry, gotta run.” his puzzled expression was a sharp reminder of the unresolved feelings you were trying to escape.

one day, as you walked past the studio, you could hear the band inside, laughing and playing their instruments. the familiar sounds only served to deepen the ache in your chest. you paused for a moment, fighting the urge to open the door and join them, but the thought of facing beomgyu made your anxiety spike. instead, you turned on your heel and walked away, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

in a moment of weakness, you sought solace in a quiet coffee shop near campus. the café’s soft lighting and mellow music provided a temporary refuge from the turmoil inside you. as you sipped your coffee, you found yourself lost in thought, staring blankly at the steaming cup in front of you. the barista’s cheery greeting when he brought your order seemed to jar you from your reverie.

“everything alright?” he asked, noticing the pensive look on your face.

you forced a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “yeah, just... thinking things over.”

as you sat there, your phone buzzed with a message from taehyun. [hey, we’re meeting at our favorite diner tonight. we haven’t seen you in ages. please come.]

you stared at the message, your emotions a turbulent mix of guilt and longing. you knew the band was trying to reach out, and taehyun’s request made you feel even more isolated. you typed a quick reply. [i’m sorry, can’t make it tonight. maybe next time.]

later that evening, you walked aimlessly around campus, trying to clear your mind. the night air was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions you were navigating. you found yourself near the band’s usual practice spot, where the faint strains of music could still be heard through the closed door. the sound was like a beacon, pulling you in, but you resisted the urge to go inside.

instead, you leaned against a nearby wall, staring at the ground, and tried to silence the conflicting thoughts racing through your mind. you missed the time where you bond, the music, and most of all, the connection you felt with beomgyu. but the guilt over your decisions and the fear of complicating things further held you back.

as you stood there, lost in thought, you heard footsteps approaching. you glanced up to see beomgyu and a couple of the other band members walking toward the practice space. beomgyu’s eyes met yours for a fleeting moment, and you saw a flicker of recognition and sadness in his gaze. you quickly averted your eyes and pushed off the wall, heading in the opposite direction. the weight of his gaze lingered on you, a painful reminder of the unresolved feelings and the barrier you had built between yourselves.

the next few days continued in this pattern of avoidance and reflection. you tried to immerse yourself in other activities—studying, hanging out with friends, and even joining a new club—to distract yourself from the growing rift between you and the band. but no matter how hard you tried, the pull of your unresolved feelings and the ache of missing the band’s presence remained ever-present.

you avoided the band’s practices, your absence becoming a topic of concern and whispers among the members. chaeyoung tried to reach out, but you deflected her inquiries with vague responses, unable to explain the complexity of what you were going through. the weight of your decisions and the growing distance between you and those you cared about only seemed to deepen with each passing day.

chaeyoung, on the other hand, continued her efforts to get closer to beomgyu. she seemed determined to pursue him, and you found yourself reluctantly setting up more opportunities for them to spend time together while you tried your best to ditch practices and avoid them, beomgyu to be exact. each one a painful reminder of your own conflicted heart.

the tension between you and chaeyoung suddenly grew, the strain becoming increasingly visible. her enthusiasm for beomgyu seemed to highlight the awkwardness between you two. one evening, after an especially intense practice, you returned to the band. the absence of your usual presence had left a noticeable void, and the atmosphere was tinged with unresolved emotions.

beomgyu, noticing your arrival, tried to catch you alone. his face was a mix of concern and frustration, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more intense. “why have you been avoiding me?” he demanded, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken frustration. “and why are you setting me up with chaeyoung when you clearly know how i feel about you?”

his words hit you like a tidal wave, the force of his emotions crashing into your already turbulent heart. you were taken aback, stammering as you struggled to find the right response amidst the swirling chaos of your feelings. “i... i just needed some time,” you said, your voice cracking under the strain. “i don’t know what to do.”

beomgyu’s eyes softened, but his frustration remained. “what do you mean, you don’t know what to do? you’ve been avoiding me for days, and every time i try to talk to you, you shut me out. and now you’re pushing me toward chaeyoung? do you even realize how confusing this is?”

the words were like daggers, each one cutting deeper into the wound you’d been trying to hide. “it’s not that simple,” you said, your voice trembling. “i didn’t mean to lead anyone on. i’m just... i’m just trying to figure things out.”

before you could finish, chaeyoung, who had been lingering just outside the practice room, overheard the exchange. her face was a mix of hurt and anger as she stormed in, her eyes blazing with a mix of betrayal and indignation. “so this is what’s been going on?” she demanded, her voice echoing with pain. “you knew all along, didn’t you? and yet you kept pushing me toward beomgyu!”

you turned to face her, your heart breaking at the sight of her wounded expression. “chaeyoung, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

chaeyoung’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, her disappointment palpable. “you should’ve told me sooner instead of making me look like a fool! i thought we were friends. i didn’t know when it started, but now i do. you’ve put me in a horrible position.”

“i don’t even know when it started,” you admitted, your own tears spilling over. “i didn’t mean to keep it from you. i just... i didn’t know how to handle it.”

chaeyoung’s expression softened slightly, though the hurt in her eyes was still clear. “you know that i treasure you so much! i can live without him, but you... i’m disappointed.” you tried to hold her hand but she refuse it by pushing your hand away.

chaeyoung shook her head, her expression a mix of sadness and resolve. “i need some space,” she said, her voice shaking. “i can’t do this right now.”

as chaeyoung turned to leave, you felt a pang of guilt and helplessness. “please, chaeyoung, let’s talk later. i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you called after her, but she didn’t stop.

the room felt heavy with unresolved emotions as chaeyoung walked out, leaving you and beomgyu standing in the aftermath of the confrontation. you watched her leave, feeling a deep sense of regret and sorrow.

stepping out of the practice room, you almost collided with chaeyoung, who was standing just outside the door, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. your eyes met hers, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened seemed to hang between you.

“chaeyoung, wait,” you started, but she held up a hand, stopping you in your tracks.

“i need to be alone,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “just... stay away from me for now.”

you watched her walk away, your heart aching as the door closed behind her. the confrontation had left you feeling empty and lost, with the weight of your actions and their consequences pressing heavily on your shoulders. the path forward seemed unclear, and the pain of seeing both chaeyoung and beomgyu hurt by your choices was almost too much to bear.

the confrontation left you feeling bare and overwhelmed, as if the weight of your choices was pressing down on you. you were torn between listening to your mind, which urged you to stay away from the complications, and following your heart, despite the potential for more chaos. each option felt heavy with its own consequences, making the decision feel almost too much to bear.

on a painfully monday morning, thanks to your bothered sleep and blood-shot eyes from crying to sleep, yeonjun planned a meeting announcing the upcoming performance the band is going to be at, it’s for the school festival which is three weeks from now. 

the days leading up to the big performance were a whirlwind of tension and emotional strain. the band’s rehearsals became increasingly fraught with unspoken conflicts. you and beomgyu found yourselves in the same space, but the atmosphere was thick with unresolved feelings. each practice felt like a tightrope walk between maintaining professionalism and confronting the personal problems between you.

you struggled to focus on the music. every note seemed to echo your inner confusion. the mere presence of beomgyu was a constant reminder of the kiss and the subsequent fallout. whenever practice ended, you would hastily pack up your things and slip out of the room before beomgyu had a chance to approach you. your heart raced as you made your way for the exit, desperate to escape the weight of the situation.

one evening, after an intense rehearsal, you were packing up your guitar when you felt beomgyu’s presence behind you. he cleared his throat, trying to get your attention. “hey, can we talk for a second?”

you stiffened, keeping your back turned. “i’m really sorry, beomgyu. i have to go.”

before he could respond, you grabbed your bag and quickly made your way to the door. you could hear his frustrated sigh as you exited the studio. you barely made it out into the hallway before you broke into a brisk walk, trying to put as much distance between you and the uncomfortable conversation.

the following day, during another practice, you could feel beomgyu’s gaze on you. his attempts to catch your eye were evident as he tried to gauge your mood. at one point, he caught up with you in the break room where you were refilling your water bottle.

“i don’t understand why you’re avoiding me,” beomgyu said, his voice filled with frustration. “we need to talk about what happened.”

you forced a tight smile, avoiding his eyes. “i know. but not right now. i really need to focus on the music.”

beomgyu’s expression hardened. “this isn’t just about the music anymore. it’s about us. you can’t keep running away.”

before he could say more, you turned and hurried back to the practice room, your heart pounding in your chest. you hoped that by diving back into the music, you could drown out the guilt and confusion that plagued you.

a few days later, after an exhausting rehearsal, you were again at the edge of the studio, packing up your gear. beomgyu approached you once more, his tone softer but still filled with a pleading urgency. “please, can we at least talk for a few minutes? it’s really important.”

you avoided his gaze, focusing intently on zipping up your bag. “i’m really tired, beomgyu. maybe another time?”

“we’ve been saying ‘another time’ for days,” he said, his voice rising slightly in frustration. “we can’t keep doing this.”

you didn’t answer, quickly slinging your bag over your shoulder and walking briskly toward the exit. you heard his footsteps behind you, but you didn’t slow down. the practice room door closed behind you with a decisive thud, leaving you alone in the hallway as you made your way out of the building, your breath coming in ragged bursts.

the tension reached a breaking point during a late-night practice session. as soon as the final chord was struck and the last note faded, you grabbed your things and tried to make another hasty exit. but beomgyu was waiting for you, his face set in a determined expression.

“this is getting ridiculous,” he said, stepping in front of the door as you tried to leave. “you can’t keep avoiding me forever.”

your pulse quickened, and you looked at him with a mix of frustration and sadness. “i don’t have the energy for this right now, beomgyu. just... let me go.”

“i can’t do that,” he said, his voice softer now. “we need to sort this out. it’s affecting the band, and it’s affecting us.”

you sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “i know. but every time we talk, it feels like it only makes things worse. is there even us?”

you saw how his emotion changed, his eyes became more soft with his eyebrows furrowed, and it almost crushed your heart into pieces. “t-then let’s just talk,” he said, stepping closer. “no pressure, just... honestly.”

you took a deep breath, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “i can’t. not yet. i’m still figuring things out.”

beomgyu’s face softened with concern. “please, don’t shut me out. i want to understand.”

with a heavy heart, you pushed past him and walked out of the studio. the cool night air hit your face as you hurried away, your mind a tangled mess of emotions. the sight of beomgyu standing alone in the doorway, his expression a mix of frustration and heartbreak, stayed with you long after you had left the building.

chaeyoung, meanwhile, had been distant and cold. the once easy trust of friendship between you had dissolved into a frosty silence. she avoided eye contact and kept conversations to a minimum, her demeanor a stark contrast to the warmth she had once shown. living together only added to the strain. each night, after band practice, you found yourself lingering on the school grounds until late, just to avoid the awkwardness of returning home to an increasingly strained atmosphere. the nights seemed endless as you waited for the right moment to return home, praying that somehow, things would resolve themselves.

one particularly chilly evening, around 9 pm, you were sitting alone on a bench near the school grounds. the practice had ended hours ago, and you were waiting for the right moment to head home, dreading the silent, uncomfortable atmosphere that awaited you. the dim streetlights cast long shadows on the deserted grounds, mirroring the isolation you felt.

you sighed deeply, your breath visible in the cold air. the empty grounds were a reflection of your emotional state—silent and still, waiting for something to change. you glanced at your watch, wishing time would move faster so you could escape the lingering anxiety.

as you sat lost in thought, yeonjun approached, his footsteps crunching on the gravel. he looked at you with a mix of concern and curiosity. “you’re still here?” he asked, taking a seat beside you without waiting for an invitation.

you shrugged, trying to mask your discomfort. “just needed some time to clear my head.”

yeonjun studied you for a moment, then spoke, his voice gentle but firm. “you know, this awkwardness between you and beomgyu is starting to affect the band. everyone can feel it, and it’s not just about the performance anymore.”

you sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “i know. i just... don’t know how to fix it.”

“maybe you should be true to yourself for once,” yeonjun suggested. “think about why you’re avoiding him. and don’t forget about chaeyoung. you two need to talk things through.”

his advice, though simple, resonated deeply. you nodded, taking his words to heart. “thanks, yeonjun. i’ll think about it.”

that night, determined to make amends, you decided to confront the situation head-on. after practice the next day, you went to a nearby store and bought two large bowls of chaeyoung’s favorite ramen. when you arrived home, the smell of the ramen filled the small apartment.

chaeyoung was sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone with a detached air. you placed the ramen on the table and took a deep breath. “i thought you might like this,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“what are you doing here.” she said, not even glancing towards you.

“i figured we have to talk..” you whispered, you voice breaking through each word.

chaeyoung looked up, her expression softening slightly as she took in the gesture. “make sure that it’s worth my time,” she said coldly, but there was a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

you sat down across from her, trying to maintain a hopeful smile. “i know things have been rough between us. i’m sorry for not being honest with you sooner.”

chaeyoung’s eyes softened as she stirred the ramen. “you know, i can deal with a broken heart. i’ve been through it before. what i can’t handle is losing you as a friend.”

the sincerity in her voice cut through your anxiety. “i didn’t want to hurt you. i was just trying to figure things out.”

chaeyoung sighed, her eyes meeting yours with a mixture of sadness and understanding. “i think you and beomgyu actually look good together. maybe you should give each other a try. i can handle another heartbreak, but losing you would be too much.”

the conversation opened the floodgates of emotion. you realized that chaeyoung valued your friendship above all else, and her willingness to support you despite the pain spoke volumes. you reached across the table and took her hand, the gesture a silent apology and an offer of reconciliation.

“that means a lot, chaeyoung,” you said softly. “thank you for being understanding.”

chaeyoung gave you a small, relieved smile. “i’m glad we talked. just... try not to let things get so complicated next time, okay?”

“i’ll do my best,” you promised, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders.

as the night wore on, the two of you found yourselves curled up together on your shared bed. the comforting warmth of her presence was a balm to your frayed nerves. you talked and laughed, reminiscing about old times, and the tension between you dissipated with each shared memory and whispered confession. it was a moment of healing, the rekindling of a cherished friendship that had weathered the storm.

one week before the performance, you began to feel a sense of relief. the conversations with yeonjun and chaeyoung had lifted a heavy burden, and you were attending band practices with renewed focus. though the anxiety about beomgyu still lingered, you were determined to sort through your feelings and confront whatever was next.

the last evening before the big performance, the practice session went smoothly. the room was filled with the familiar hum of instruments and the rhythm of music. throughout the practice, you and beomgyu exchanged furtive glances, a mix of unspoken emotions passing between you. the atmosphere was charged, but neither of you made the first move to bridge the gap.

as practice concluded, you told everyone you’d be quick and just needed to grab some water. when you returned to the band room, it was nearly empty. only yeonjun and taehyun remained, engaged in a low-key conversation. your heart sank as you realized beomgyu was nowhere to be seen.

as you picked up your bag, a folded piece of paper fell to the floor. you bent down and retrieved it, noticing a guitar pick tucked inside. unfolding the note, you saw beomgyu’s handwriting:

“i know you won’t listen to me, but i hope you will read my letters at least. —beomgyu”

confused, you glanced around, searching for beomgyu, despite know he was already gone. taehyun, observing your puzzled expression, spoke up. “i think there’s another note in your bag. beomgyu put a notebook there too.”

curiosity and worry surged through you, prompting you to dig through your bag. you discovered a notebook, its pages filled with beomgyu’s thoughts. the first entry was raw and revealing:

“i remember the first time i really noticed you. you were playing that red guitar of yours, your hair a bit messy, like you had just rolled out of bed. heheh (i actually think it looks good on you) there was something about the way you got lost in your music, so focused, so at ease with yourself. i couldn’t stop watching. i didn’t want to admit it, but that’s when i started paying attention.”

the next few entries showed beomgyu’s growing awareness of his feelings:

“i started finding excuses to be around you more. the way you’d smile after hitting a tricky chord, or how you’d cheer me on during my solos—it all started to matter a lot. i thought it was just a phase (lol), but the more i got to know you, the more it felt like something real.”

“then we had that night—the kiss. it was a mistake, or at least that’s what i tried to convince myself. but deep down, it felt like the start of something confusing and complicated. i wanted to fix things, but every time i tried, it seemed like i only made things worse.”

“now, with the performance coming up, i’m feeling this weight. i don’t know if we’ll have another chance to sort things out. it’s been hard trying to figure out how to make things right before we all move on. i just hope we can talk before it’s too late.”

your heart raced as you flipped to the last page. there, you found a sketch of a girl holding a red guitar. it was you, drawn with such detail and tenderness that it took your breath away. next to the sketch were lyrics:

“through the band, i discovered you i’m grateful for the music you appeared so unexpectedly with your red guitar in my studio and as you sang, i was instantly captivated i’ll write a song with you as its title the lyrics may not be ready but the melody comes first you’re the one i’ve been waiting for i’m ready to be genuine opening the door, i once believed, i couldn’t bear it any longer” - fuck, is it too cheesy? i don’t know… i just miss you.

the lyrics were written multiple times, with some lines crossed out and rewritten, showing how much thought beomgyu had put into them. the repeated attempts, the crossed-out words—everything spoke of his deep desire to get it right.

your heart thumped wildly in your chest as you absorbed the significance of his words and the heartfelt sentiment behind the song. tears welled in your eyes as you closed the notebook and looked at yeonjun and taehyun.

“where is he?” you asked, your voice trembling. “beomgyu, where is he?”

“who?” taehyun asked, clearly confused.

“beomgyu! where did he go?” you repeated, your urgency growing as tears began to spill.

“i believe he went home already,” yeonjun said.

“you can try to catch him; he’s a slow walker—” taehyun began, but before he could finish, you had already shoved the notebook back into your bag, grabbed your things, and bolted out of the room.

you raced through the dimly lit corridors, your breath coming in ragged gasps. you sprinted through the campus grounds, desperately searching for beomgyu. each second felt like an eternity as you scanned the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

you ran to the usual places you thought he might be—the old practice rooms, the quiet spots near the campus park—but he was nowhere to be found. the night air was cool against your flushed face, but the chill did little to cool the fire in your chest.

your footsteps echoed in the empty streets, the rhythmic thud a reminder of your growing desperation. you crouched on the ground, the cold seeping through your clothes as you struggled to catch your breath. the thought of not having the chance to tell him about your feelings, of him giving you the letter as a closure to move on, weighed heavily on you. tears streamed down your face as you walked home, feeling utterly defeated.

when you finally arrived home, the weight of the night’s events seemed to settle heavily on your shoulders. the house was quiet, the kind of quiet that amplified every little noise and seemed to echo your disheartened thoughts. the door creaked open, and as you stepped inside, the emptiness of the space felt almost suffocating.

chaeyoung was waiting for you. she had sensed your distress even before you had the chance to say anything. without a word, she pulled you into a warm, comforting hug. her arms wrapped around you tightly, a silent gesture of support and understanding. you felt the warmth of her body, her comforting presence dissolving the tension that had built up inside you throughout the evening.

“hey,” she whispered softly, her voice a gentle balm to your aching heart. “it’s gonna be okay.”

you buried your face in her shoulder, the tears you’d been holding back finally breaking free. chaeyoung’s soothing words, combined with her embrace, were a small island of calm in the storm of emotions you were experiencing. the comfort she offered was genuine, and it helped to remind you that you didn’t have to face this alone.

chaeyoung held you for a long moment, allowing you to cry it out. her hand gently stroked your back, a rhythmic reassurance that she was there for you. “it’s alright,” she murmured, “we’ll figure it out. just breathe.”

the next morning, the day of the big performance, you woke up with a tangled mess of thoughts. the weight of the previous night pressed heavily on your mind, and the comfort of your bed felt like an irresistible temptation. you lay there, tangled in blankets, every fiber of your being urging you to stay in this cocoon of warmth and forget about everything.

but then chaeyoung’s voice cut through the haze of your thoughts, sharp and clear. “hey,” she said firmly, her voice breaking through the fog of indecision. “if this is the last time you’re going to see him, then fuck that and go! look at him all you can, don’t waste the chance. come on, i didn’t raise you like that.”

her words were a jolt, a wake-up call that pulled you from the comfort of denial and into the reality of the situation. chaeyoung’s unwavering resolve and concern for you pierced through your indecision, and you knew she was right. if this was the final chance to confront your feelings, you couldn’t waste it. you needed to be brave, even if it felt terrifying.

when you arrived at the venue for the final rehearsal, the atmosphere was charged with tension. the anticipation of the upcoming performance was palpable, but there was an undercurrent of unease that seemed to hover in the air. you glanced around the room, expecting to see the familiar faces of your bandmates, but there were only three of them present.

the absence of one crucial member was glaringly obvious. “where’s beomgyu?” you asked, your voice betraying your anxiety. the concern was evident in your tone, and your eyes scanned the room for any sign of him.

yeonjun looked up from where he was adjusting his equipment, his brow furrowed in frustration. “he’s not responding to our texts,” he explained. “so, we’ll have soobin as his proxy for now.”

“yeah, he’ll be late i guess,” kai added, trying to sound reassuring despite the clear concern in his voice. “we’re not sure what’s going on with him.”

you nodded, trying to push aside the worry gnawing at you. the rehearsal proceeded, but the empty space where beomgyu should have been felt like a void that you couldn’t ignore.

the rehearsal ended, and you found yourself backstage, preparing for your turn on stage. you sat on a bench, your fingers fidgeting with the edges of your clothing, the absence of beomgyu weighing heavily on your mind. the backstage area was bustling with activity, but your focus was entirely on the empty spot where he should have been.

the door to the backstage area swung open with a suddenness that made you look up. the familiar chorus of greetings and exclamations filled the space, but your attention was solely on the figure who had just entered. beomgyu stood in the doorway, his usual delicate eyes now showing a complex mix of emotions that you couldn’t quite interpret. his hair was styled the same as always, framing his face, but today it seemed as though he was carrying an invisible weight.

he was dressed in a black cardigan over a white polo, paired with a black tie, torn black shorts, and his signature chucky shoes. his guitar was slung casually over his shoulder, but it was clear that he was focused on something more than just the instrument.

the sight of him stirred a flurry of emotions inside you—hope, confusion, anxiety. the connection between you seemed visible, even though the tension in the air was almost tangible. beomgyu’s eyes locked onto yours for a moment, and it felt as though time itself had momentarily stopped.

the room seemed to hold its breath as the two of you stared at each other. for a fleeting instant, it felt as if everything else had faded away, leaving just the two of you and the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you.

beomgyu’s heart raced when he walked into the room, each step feeling heavier than the last. the sleepless night had left him utterly drained, and the weight of his apprehensions pressed down on him with every beat of his heart. he had spent hours pouring his feelings into the notebook, hoping it would be enough to bridge the gap between you. now, the fear that his words had fallen on deaf ears gnawed at him. the sight of you, barely meeting his gaze, made that fear even more tangible.

“sorry i’m late,” he said, his voice lacking its usual warmth and confidence. “i had trouble sleeping last night. i hope i didn’t mess things up too badly.”

hearing his words only made your heart ache more. was he thinking about you, too? the vulnerability in his voice made you wonder if he was struggling with his own feelings. but before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, the sound coordinator knocked on the door. “hey, you’re up next!” he called, breaking the moment.

the rush of adrenaline surged through you as you stood up, gripping your red guitar tightly. you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. this was it. you glanced over at beomgyu, who was talking to yeonjun, possibly explaining his late arrival.

“is everything okay with you?” yeonjun asked beomgyu, his tone laced with concern. “we’ve got just a bit of time before you go on.”

beomgyu nodded, though his expression was troubled. “yeah, just… needed to get my head straight. thanks for covering for me.”

you tried to push your swirling thoughts aside, focusing on the performance ahead. backstage, the crew hurriedly prepared the equipment, adjusting microphones and checking amplifiers. you spotted chaeyoung in the audience, her encouraging smile offering a small boost of confidence. you could see her giving you a thumbs-up, and it made you feel a bit more grounded.

as you took your place on stage, you could feel beomgyu’s eyes on you, even as you busied yourself with setting up your gear. his presence was almost palpable, adding to your already heightened nerves.

the introduction song started, the energetic beat filling the venue. the crowd’s applause and cheers created a vibrant atmosphere. yeonjun stepped up to the mic, his voice clear and upbeat as he began introducing the band members.

the setlist progressed smoothly, each song blending seamlessly into the next with transitions that kept the crowd energized. the band’s performance was electric, and the audience’s enthusiasm was noticeable. but as the performance reached the last few songs, yeonjun announce that there will be last two song on the list, you noticed something odd. there was a mix-up in the setlist. you were sure that only one song was left—the one you and beomgyu had written together.

but before you even get lost on your mind the drum sticks signaled the start of the final song, your thoughts snapped back to the stage. kai had stopped playing the keyboard and held the mic ready, his expression serious yet excited.

the lyrics began to flow through the venue, each word resonating deeply within you:

unnoticed, the noises around us fade away, is it obvious that there's something one of us wants to admit? as time passes, we don't realize that only we remain here. our eyes meet, yearning to say, you take my heart to the heavens, giving me a joy that feels true. there's nothing more to seek; you are mine, and i am yours, and here we lose ourselves. time has flown by, and we haven't even noticed that only we remain. our eyes meet, yearning to say, you take my heart to the heavens, giving me a joy that feels true. there's nothing more to seek; you are mine, and i am yours, and here we lose ourselves. we lose ourselves in each other. we lose ourselves in each other.

as kai sang, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from beomgyu. the spotlight cast soft shadows on his face, highlighting the familiar contours you had come to know so well. each lyric of the song seemed to resonate with memories of your time together, drawing you into a whirlpool of recollections.

you remembered those late-night practice sessions, the room filled with the soft strum of guitars and the clinking of coffee cups. you and beomgyu would lose track of time, laughing over missed notes and exchanging knowing glances. one night, as the clock ticked past midnight, beomgyu had paused his playing and looked over at you.

“why do we always end up here?” he’d asked, a smile tugging at his lips. “it��s like our own little world.” you’d grinned, nodding in agreement. “maybe it’s because we can just be ourselves here. no need to pretend.”

you thought about the meals you’d shared after exhausting rehearsals, grabbing quick bites from a local convenience store. you’d both been too tired to care about anything more than satisfying your hunger, but those moments had been filled with genuine conversation and laughter.

“remember that time we tried to make our own ramen?” beomgyu had said, chuckling as he sipped his cup noodles. “we thought it would be a culinary masterpiece.”

you had laughed, shaking your head. “more like a disaster in a cup.”

and those small, intimate moments when it was just the two of you. Like that one afternoon in the practice room when you had both been too tired to play. you’d ended up sprawled on the floor, talking about everything and nothing.

“sometime i think,” beomgyu had mused, “that we don’t need to say much to understand each other. it’s like we already know what the other is thinking.”

“yeah,” you’d replied, “sometimes silence speaks louder than words.”

now, as kai’s voice wrapped around the final lines of the song, you felt a wave of resolve wash over you. the lyrics spoke of that intangible bond, the silent connection that defied explanation.

you couldn’t ignore these feelings any longer. the song’s message, combined with your shared experiences, had made your decision clear. you were going to confess your feelings to beomgyu, no matter how terrifying it felt. you tightened your grip on your guitar, your heart pounding in your chest. it was now or never.

when the final chord resonated through the venue and the crowd erupted into cheers, the noise seemed to amplify the storm inside you. yeonjun stepped up to the mic, his voice full of energy.

“this next song was a collaboration between our very own beomgyu and y/n,” he announced, a proud smile on his face. “it’s about the things we can’t always put into words, the unspoken connection that binds two people together. it’s about finding a way to express what words alone can’t capture.”

the spotlight shifted to you and beomgyu, illuminating the space between you. in that brief moment, your eyes met, and a wave of fear and excitement washed over you. beomgyu’s gaze was intense, filled with a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite place.

you took a deep breath, your resolve hardening. this was your chance to be honest, to put everything on the line. you were going to confess your feelings to beomgyu, no matter what.

after the last song, the lights in the auditorium abruptly cut off, plunging the space into darkness. a murmur of confusion swept through the crowd as you fumbled to make out shapes in the dimness. the auditorium, being a closed area, seemed to amplify the darkness. but just as quickly as the lights had gone out, they flickered back on, casting a bright, almost blinding light over the stage.

you blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness. and there, standing in the middle of the stage, was beomgyu. he was wearing taehyun’s guitar and adjusting the standing mic with a mixture of nervousness and determination. he cleared his throat, his voice resonating through the microphone.

“hello, i’m beomgyu,” he began, his tone holding a rare softness. “the band’s bassist. i don’t sing a lot on sets,” he paused, a shy chuckle escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck. “i have a special set, uh... for a special someone.”

the words seemed to hang in the air, and you could see his eyes flicker in your direction before he turned back to the crowd. his hands began to strum the guitar, and an unfamiliar melody started to fill the auditorium. it was different from the usual songs he played, and though you’d heard him sing before, this was something deeply personal.

he kept stealing glances at you, his fingers dancing over the strings with a mix of vulnerability and hope. the room seemed to narrow down to just the two of you as he sang the first verse:

“through the band, i discovered you…”

the song's lyrics were hauntingly familiar, echoing the melody from the last page of the notebook. the realization hit you like a wave, and you felt your heart race. the notebook, the lyrics—it was all coming together in this intimate performance.

as he sang, every word seemed to cut through the chaos of your thoughts. the lyrics spoke of unspoken feelings, of discovering something precious through shared moments. the melody wove a story of connection and understanding, each note filled with emotion.

you wiped away the tears that had started cascading down your cheeks. your heart felt like it was being tugged by an invisible force, leading you to move. your feet seemed to act on their own, carrying you toward beomgyu as if guided by the sincerity in his song.

the crowd’s noise faded into the background as you approached him. beomgyu’s eyes locked onto yours as he strummed the final chords, his expression a mix of relief and nervous anticipation. you saw him begin to walk toward you, but before he could close the distance, you ran, your legs propelling you forward in a desperate bid to reach him.

you threw your arms around him in a tight embrace, and in that moment, the world felt like it had stopped. it was just the two of you, standing in the center of the stage, with your hearts speaking louder than any words could.

“it’s the same lyrics…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “the same as what you wrote on the last page…”

beomgyu’s breath was warm against your forehead. “you read it…” he said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and vulnerability.

“of course i did,” you replied, your forehead resting against his. his eyes softened, and before he could say another word, you leaned in and captured his lips with yours. the kiss was a fusion of all the feelings you had kept bottled up, a silent confession that needed no words.

when you finally pulled back, breathless, beomgyu’s cheeks were flushed a deep red. “t-there are people watching…” he whispered, his voice laced with embarrassment.

the realization hit you like a splash of cold water. the crowd’s cheers and laughter had reached a crescendo, and your bandmates were all staring at you with amused expressions.

“oh, fuck it,” you said, a determined smile spreading across your face. you grabbed beomgyu’s hands tightly, the warmth of his touch grounding you. you looked at him with a mixture of mischief and resolve before starting to run.

the two of you sprinted toward the backstage exit, hand in hand, the noise of the crowd and the teasing laughter of your bandmates fading behind you. as you pulled beomgyu along, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. this was your moment, and no one could take it away from you.

gyo's note: this is by far the longest one i've written, this idea came to my mind when i rewatched the movie 20th century girl and when i tell u i had 2-3 business days of grieving over it and that's when the idea of heartstrings started. it was also heavily inspired with the song MRT and Lia, so if you guys would like to, you can check them out for yourself (it's a good song, and the exact song i used for lyrics part, i just translated it into english) ++ i love me a bassist!beomgyu actually anything that beomgyu does :<< i think i'm smitten you guys (sighs) this note is longer than i expected so i'll end this here by saying that i have a new story idea, a series actually, for yeonjun and soobin yayyy ^^ please like and reblog, it helps my works to have more engagement, and if you made it to this part, thank you so much for reading. you will be loved, xoxo!

✮ 2024 gyozies, all rights reserved.

[sincere1ystar]

Alone Again

peacekeeper coriolanus snow x fem! reader

You and Coriolanus have always had a complicated relationship, and before you can mend it fate makes a decision for you.

There were two men who lived within coriolanus snow. The first one was Officer Snow who held his head high and was highly respected among his fellow peacekeepers. The second one was your Coryo who came to your house every night in fragmented pieces. Yet you would always put him back together again while he whispered empty promises to you among his sobs.

He came fractured to you every night and you slowly put him back together every night. As the sunlight poured through the windows, he would be as good as new again. He left you a kiss on your cheek every morning before he put on his peacekeeper uniform and left before anyone noticed he was gone for too long. You were happy to see him at peace during the mornings, knowing that his melancholy would arise with the moon and he would come back to you bruised and broken yet again.

Sometimes you wondered how much longer you could put up with it all. Coriolanus sweared that your love could heal all his wounds. Love, that’s what shackled you to him. He truely knew you, he would trace over the little details over your skin that you never knew existed and somehow always knew what were you feeling by the look in your eyes. But he still kept himself so guarded around you, you could see it in the way all his expressions seemed calculated and how he sometimes bit his lip mid conversation, making sure to never reveal too much. Did you really know the man you loved?

Despite his flaws, you knew he loved you and you comforted yourself with the fact. He still made effort for your sake even when he was in vain. He would always come back to you, was it for your sake or because you were all he had left?You weren’t picky, you never received much love growing up so you latched onto what you could get and you refused to let go of Coriolanus even with calloused and scorched hands begging you to let go.

When the appearance of his footsteps on your doorstep was replaced with a letter, you don’t read too much into it at first. It was later than his normal arrival time and you decided to peek out the window to see if you could catch any sight of him. Instead you were met with a flimsy piece of paper that that didn’t even meet up to his presence. You opened it hoping it was just a warning that he would be coming home later than usual. Your face fell when you slowly unfolded the paper and realized that Coriolanus wasn’t just held up by his peacekeeper duties.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

To my dearest,

It seems our path has come to an end. Not like I wanted it to, I avoided shortcuts and alternate routes. I always knew deep down we were on limited time, still like a foolish boy I pushed it down hoping for a miracle. Don’t hate me, fate is a cruel thing and set us up from the start knowing we would never stand a chance. Don’t wait up on me either, I won’t come back. Perhaps this was for the best, a soul as gentle as yours was never meant to be with my tainted one. I hope you’ll move on, it’ll be best for you and that’s all I’ll cared about from the start.

Forever and Always,

your Coryo

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Even know that he was gone he was stil asking so much from you. “Dont hate me.. Don’t wait up on me.. I hope you’ll move on”. You should be angry, yet you can’t help it as tears slip from your eyes. You gave him everything you were, you gave him your being and soul all for a piece of paper with his written words on it. Your tears fall on the paper smearing the ink. Destroying the last memory you would ever have of him. Still, the letter couldn’t capture the way he always knew how to make up for his mistakes or the way his apologizes ran sweet through his mouth like honey. He had turned you into some sort of fool, crying your heart out over a man who could only offer you “I’m sorry’s” instead of “I do’s.

Too little too late.

[macfrog]

little aphrodite sex on fire chapter nine

the amount i had to write jean-marc in this chapter makes me nauseous. anywho. these two heal my soul and make me weep. please enjoy a little look back at the ceo's experience of paris.

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: we're going back to paris. this time, through joel's eyes.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, ostentatious flaunting of wealth (eat the rich i say), sugardaddy!joel, softdom!joel, oral (f and m receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, angst & pining, and...well. the ceo falls in love.

word count: 7.5k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

He wasn’t even sure you’d say yes when he asked. Thought you’d find it a bit much, flying halfway across the world just for one lousy meeting. He had what he’d say when you turned him down in mind, already: Sure, yeah, no problem. No, I just thought – Yeah. ‘s alright. I’ll bring you back som’ as a souvenir.

But you didn’t.

Oh, yeah? you’d said. Your face seemed to light – humored, impressed even. It made Joel feel braver. Reassured. You’ve a habit of doing that to him.

Mhm, he replied, chewing on the sub you’d ordered him after his conference call. He can’t remember what he promised Human Resources he’d have done within the hour. You walked in as he was saying it, and – well. Two days, he said, swallowing, Saturday Sunday.

And are you gonna make me take minutes while you meet with this Jean-Marc? You wiggled your fingers as you said it, letting the name drip through your lips in some kind of dreamy song. I don’t make the flight back unless they’re typed up by the time we leave? That the catch?

No catch. You don’t even gotta come to the meetin’.

I don’t have to –? Wow, Miller. You’re spoiling me, no? You kicked your leg, one knee hooked over the other. Your skirt shrinking up your thigh.

You were sat in the chair on the right, opposite his desk. You always sit in that one – and Joel’s still trying to figure out why. The working theory so far is that it’s at a good angle to watch the city below, and at the same time, see exactly who comes and goes in and out of the office during lunch.

But there has to be more to it, he thinks. He suspects. Martha’s desk is, like, five feet from yours. She spends her lunches in the conference room with Deb, shaking salads doused in balsamic vinegar and sharing cross-floor gossip. They invite you every day, and almost every day, you turn them down in favor of his shuttered office, the muted swish of cars on the street, the mock gasps and clutch of invisible pearls when you share that same fifth-floor gossip with him over the desk.

You’d been talking while he’d been thinking about the damn chair. He hadn’t heard a word of it. Huh? he asked, and you rolled your eyes.

Ain’t never listenin’, you muttered, peeling the damp paper back from your own sub.

Say it again, Joel said. Was just making a mental note to book dinner for us over there.

You scoffed, licking mayo from the corner of your lips. Why you making mental notes for anything? That’s what you pay me for.

And you were right – it is what he pays you for. Pays you to be his shadow, his right-hand man, his eyes and his ears and his entire brain, some days.

But lately – he doesn’t know. It’s different.

Truth be told, he has no idea what’s gotten into him. Looking at you the way he is. You’ve fucked around twice, now, and both times have been…nothing short of fucking amazing. Both times, Joel’s thought he might come within the first two minutes. Pushing inside your velvet walls, watching the way you roll forward, hearing the lewd moans pour across your lips.

He’s always thought you were attractive. It’s pretty fucking hard to ignore. Physically, sure – the look of your body, the way you know how to dress it. And the prettiest, softest face he’s ever seen. You can win him over in any discussion without a word, just by fluttering your eyelashes at him.

But you’re more than that. He thinks of you both as friends, maybe something more. Something deeper. It’s in the glances you steal, the silent lines tossed between one another. The way you read one another like an open book. Sometimes, he wonders if you actually can read his mind.

You’re intelligent, you’re funny, and you’re a hard fucking worker. Always on time, always seemingly juggling thirty things at once, and never letting him down. Nothing is too much, it seems; everything just is as it is. And he likes that about you. Simple. No baggage.

The morning of the flight, you send him a voice note telling him you’re downstairs. “And I ain’t lugging two cases up to the top floor only to bring ‘em back down when we’re leaving, Mr. CEO.”

He’s striding past Martha for the elevator before he’s even done listening to the message.

“Uh-uh!” she chirps, dashing over to slip between the brass doors behind him.

Joel sighs under his breath.

“I know better than to rely on you to remember all this stuff,” she says, holding up a file he’d asked her to put together for the trip.

She’s right not to – he’d probably leave that file in the car, or put it down somewhere and walk off without it. You’re the only one who can be trusted with it – with anything. You’re good at your job. And yet, he resents the fact that Martha’s about to lump you with even a fraction of responsibility for the next four days.

So when the Rolls pulls off and Martha is nothing but a pin-sized silhouette through the back window, still waving from the sidewalk, he pinches the folder in two fingers and tosses it to his left hip. Out of your grasp. You smile, eyes rolling, and pop your earbuds in. Joel breathes a laugh, eyes dipping again to skim read some contract on his phone. His hand is locked around your thigh. He likes that you just let him do it now.

Likes a lot of things about you. Likes that you put your music on shuffle, and then skip eleven tracks until you find one you actually want to listen to. Likes that your fingers twirl around the light chain of your necklace – the way they do anytime you’re nervous – and when he asks if you’re alright, you bareface lie to him and squeak, Yep.

Likes the glow the morning sun casts on you when you emerge from the car on the tarmac, pooling in the dimples on your cheeks, bright gold. The way you tug on the loose cotton of your sweatpants, bashful. Shy. And he likes that, when he follows you up the steps to the plane cabin, your awestruck expression lasts all of five seconds before that quick wit kicks straight back in.

“Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution,” you tell him, and Joel silently says his fifth thankful prayer this morning that he thought to ask you and not Martha.

He watches you settle into a seat by the window, watches you crane your neck to survey the view from the tiny circle of thick glass. He thinks about what he’d do if you were alone right now, if there weren’t crew slowly filing into the jet behind him.

He floats the idea. Tells you about the bedroom up back, tells you it’s cozy. You read between the lines just like he wants you to. And when the plane’s in the air, you follow after him.

You fall into bed together the same way you do when you arrive at the hotel. A tangle of limbs, of sweat and stuffy plane air. He sleeps the soundest he has in months – years, maybe. Pushed off by the sound of your breathing, the dip in the mattress by his side. The warmth which radiates from your body, the soft brush of your hand against his.

He puts it down to the travelling – the eight-hour flight, the plushy super king waiting on the other side. He puts it down to the way the world feels different, this side of the Atlantic. The privacy he feels come over the two of you, like sneaking into the next room: your voices muffled through the wall, your movements reduced to vague shadows beneath the door.

He watches you through sleepy eyes as you prance around the suite in the morning, twirling in and out of the bathroom while you get ready for the day. He wonders if this is what you’re like every day – if you spend your Monday mornings beaming like a little kid, toothbrush hanging lopsided from the corner of your mouth, white bubbles lining your gums. He wonders why he’s wondering. Why a part of him wants to see that version of you, too.

This version – now following his lead down Avenue Montaigne, doe-eyed and wonderstruck – is over all too soon. He’s dragged from her, from you, before he’s ready to leave.

His phone vibrates in his pocket right as he’s leading you out of some ridiculously overpriced jewelers – an irritating reminder of his meeting in an hour’s time.

“Fuck,” he whispers, holding you steady as you spin around to glimpse at the baroque building. “Hey, pretty girl,” he squeezes your hand, “I got some bad news.”

Your bottom lip pouts, eyes gleaming. It’s enough, he thinks, to convince him to stick around. If you asked him to, he’d text Jean-Marc right now and tell him to fuck off. But you tell him to go, tell him you’ll meet him back at the hotel once he’s done and you’re tired. With a teasing smirk and a tiny wave, you see him off down the cobbled street. He watches from the back window as you set off again, heading towards another iron-gated store.

Denis pulls up alongside the towering hotel, totters around the car to meet Joel as he stretches out of the Maybach. The square-jawed man stands with his hands linked, and nods enthusiastically when Joel thanks him.

“The shopping – I will take it back to the hotel,” he assures his boss, a wide smile on his lips.

He’s a good guy, Denis. He’s chauffeured Joel to five of these meetings over as many years – he knows the drill by now. Knows it’ll be a couple hours and a few whiskeys before he gets another call to pick him up.

His nodding doubles, more obedient when Joel asks him to make sure he listens for your call. “You mind stayin’ nearby that part of town?” he asks. “Just so – when she’s done, y’know…”

“Not at all,” Denis says, flapping two palms to the ground. Swatting away Joel’s concern, his worrying, his missing you.

He replies, a little absentmindedly, passing by the head of gray hair with a distant smile. “Thanks, Denis. See you later.”

Five meetings, five trips over here to be pestered by some obnoxious little man in an obnoxious little robe and obnoxious little loafers, and still, Joel never knows what to expect. He strides beneath the golden archway entrance into a domed lobby, every surface spotless and shining; marble counter in the center with a symmetrically-suited clerk sat behind.

She stands and smiles politely to Joel as he approaches, recognizing him with a flutter of her eyelashes. He feels the absence of your arm on his, an ache at his elbow.

“Monsieur,” she croons, pale fingers reaching for the telephone. She whispers something softly into the receiver and then nods, folding her painted lips together as she places the handset back into its cradle. With a floating hand aimed at the elevator behind her, she says, sultry and dreamlike, “He is ready for you.”

Joel fights an eyeroll with every fiber of his being. He wanders round the circular desk, bunches his shoulders into the tight elevator, and jams his thumb into the button marked P.

The doors shudder open when he reaches the top floor. He steps out slowly, waiting for the Frenchman to pounce on him like some kind of wild cat. Wouldn’t put it past him, Joel thinks. As he’s scanning the room, counting the six bouquets dotted around, there’s a single clap from behind the veiled curtains. A silhouette out on the terrace.

Jean-Marc swings between the sheer white, calling out to the lonely figure in his entryway. “If it isn’t my favorite American,” he sings, taking Joel by the arms and squeezing roughly. “How lovely to see you again, Joelie. Please, come.”

The sunlight blinds Joel when he steps out into it, peering over the city skyline under low brows. Jean-Marc is already sat at the top of a thin, glass table, pouring golden whiskey into a square glass and scooping two bulky ice cubes in. The nectar swirls around when the glass is held out to Joel, the ice tittering as he accepts it.

The table, a rocky terrain of pain au chocolat and brioche, pools of citrus spreads and dishes of butter. Joel keeps his hands to himself as Jean-Marc slaps jam onto a croissant, bronze flakes fluttering all over the table as he attempts to regale Joel with some investment into a casino.

“Riccardo says it is too much; I told him to go to hell. We will double the cost of the place, I know it, Joel. We have the eye for things like these, men like you and I, hm?”

Men like you and I, Joel thinks, lips tilting. He balances the glass on his thigh, watches the ice cubes turn over themselves. He thinks of you, thinks of the man you see him as. Thinks how tall he stands against the man Jean-Marc must see sat opposite him right now.

Thinks how rotten, and ugly, and how small the latter is. How easily you and your words could crumble him. All show, all sitting on perfect terraces with pretentious dickbags disguised as friends, drinking pissy whiskey with a plastered smile on his lips.

How comical it all is – the sound of yapping across the tabletop, These idiots would pay millions for manure if you painted it golden, the sprawling sheets of green-leafed plants, the headache-inducing flowers, the buckled loafers and the signet ring catching the sun.

How much he misses the weight of you on his hips, forearms flat on his chest, ear against his heart. The sound of your laughter lilting in his ear. The rosy smell of your skin and the feel of your eyelashes, featherlight on his cheek. He feels the distance between the two of you like elastic strung apart, stretching thinner and thinner, weaker and frailer, ready to snap into two halves at any moment.

“Anyways,” Jean-Marc says, lifting the wine bottle shakily. It clinks brashly against the lip of his glass, a painful scrape. Joel wonders if he’s already halfway to hammered. “Tell me how you’ve been, Joelie.”

Joel tells him he’s been fine. Business is fine. Money is fine. Company’s doing fine. Everything’s fucking fine. Easiest answer to avoid further questioning, to satiate Jean-Marc’s constant thirst for news, or intel, or just plain gossip.

He slips up, though. Makes the one colossal mistake he spent all morning hoping and praying and drilling directly into his brain that he wouldn’t.

Jean-Marc asks how his flight was, sticking the damp end of a cigarette to his bottom lip.

Joel says, “Good, yeah. We got here, maybe, ten o’clock last night.”

And Jean-Marc’s eyebrows arch. His hands freeze, match held against the striker strip. “We?” he asks, white stick flapping between his teeth.

“Uh,” Joel shifts in his seat. Your gentle wave, the corners of your lips, the toss of hair over your shoulder. It’s as though Jean-Marc can see his thoughts played on a reel before him, the haste with which Joel attempts to wipe you from his own mind. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “Jerry ‘n Lisa. Len and Pol.”

The Frenchman’s eyes narrow, a grin pulling on his pink lips. “We,” he says again, whipping the match roughly against the strip. Speaking into cupped hands, a cloud of white billowing from his leathery fingers, he murmurs, “Joel brought company with him to Paris, yes? Who is the lucky tourist? Une petite amie?”

Joel’s tongue dabs at the sickly wash of whiskey on his lips. He thinks to grab the fucker by the throat, throttle him until the idea of you rattles from his skull, spilling back into Joel’s safe hands where you belong.

He almost fucking lies. Almost says it’s just Martha, or Drew, or his fucking mother. But Jean-Marc is like a rat, scurrying along after a source of water. He’ll find it in the end. They always do.

He breathes your name, reluctant to let it go. Jean-Marc cocks his head, leans in, a swirling snake of silky smoke lifting from the cigarette between his fingers. Joel repeats it, voice louder, but flatter. Breaks it into too many syllables. Lets his host hear every bite of annoyance.

“She’s my assistant,” he says, and Jean-Marc claps again.

“Your assistant! How wonderful. And where is she today? She is not…” his fingers circle the air, disturbing the trail of smoke, “…assisting you?”

“Gave her the afternoon off.” Joel lifts his glass to his lips. The geometric shape amplifies his voice, bass like the growl of a bear. “Busy couple days. She deserves some downtime.”

He hates the sound of your name as it peels from Jean-Marc’s tongue. Like a hangnail, the residue a gorge of bloody, torn skin. Your name is Joel’s favorite sound, he realizes now, and the way this little asshole keeps butchering it boils an anger so hot and so quick under his skin that he’s not sure he can hold it at bay.

It’s not as if he owns you or your name – far from it. He has no desire to be anything more than a placeholder: somewhere for you to slot your hand, rest your head, curl your body against. Still, he feels a direct protectiveness over you right now. An impulse to stand in front of Jean-Marc’s tiny figure, arms wide, stopping him from picturing you or learning about you or meeting you.

Which is, of course, exactly what the little fucker suggests.

A wet pff sound as he rids his mouth of bitter smoke, and he offers to host breakfast in the morning.

“No, no, we, uh –” Joel’s hands are up, like pleading with the man, whiskey kissing the lip of its glass, “– you don’t have to – Look, Jean-Marc, I’m sure you’re busy enough with all –”

“Nonsense!” Jean-Marc waves a hand. Ash sprinkles down the cuff of his robe. “It would be my pleasure. Shall we say, ten?”

Joel grumbles, eye following the flight of a bird in the distance. What are you doing right now? Are you back in the suite, trying on the outfit you picked out together? Are you still wandering down the streets, drinking up the lavish city like a perfect little cocktail of bliss and wonder?

And what the fuck does he have to do to excuse himself, to come find you, to wrap his arms around you and never let you leave his side again?

He feels idiotic. Juvenile. Like a stupid little teenager, pining for his junior year girlfriend. The feelings all sharp and brittle, prodding his heart roughly anytime he thinks too hard on them.

When he looks back to Jean-Marc – the cigarette tearing closer and closer to his fingers, an expectant smile on his lips – he concedes.

“Ten is fine,” he says, and suddenly, the sky casts over.

You’re on the terrace when he finally returns to the hotel room. Head aching from the alcohol and forced conversation, he drags himself over to you.

The sight of you, hair lifting in the breeze, the sweet smell and soft touch under his hands feels like the pouring of honey on a raw throat, like cool water lapping at his waist on a scorching day. And he needs more, and he feels the saliva pool beneath his tongue, and you’re touching him and talking to him and all he can think about is replacing his saliva with you – with every drop of you that you’ll lend him.

You follow his every request – parting your legs, making room for him between them, opening yourself to him like coming home after work, like sinking deep into your shared bed, like pushing your salt-slicked fingers on his tongue and chanting taste me taste me love me need me.

Petals opening, shards of orange separating. His cock throbs in his pants when he feels the circle of your hips against his jaw, the taste of sweet, sweet nectar spilling from your center. His clothes still smell of the smoke from Jean-Marc’s weedy lips; the sweat on his skin borne from three hours sat in the sun, dehydrated by whiskey, discussing money and gold and then money again.

He doesn’t want to fuck you here, like this. As that puny, pompous prick he’s felt like since the second he wandered through the Frenchman’s hotel doors. He can’t. You deserve him clean, new. You deserve the Joel you think he is – yours. Affected by your touch alone, moved by the gleam in your eye. You deserve him, Joel decides, on your terms.

And that same night, stood in the same spot, dregs of sunlight replaced by molten moonlight, staring at the dazzling Eiffel Tower against the deep blue sky – that same night, when he turns and clocks the silhouette of your body just feet from him, he realizes that this is it.

He’s sure he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, standing in the dim light, your fingers playing with the bust of the silk robe draped over your body. The jewelry on your neck catching the light like his own private attraction, his own little spectacle. Just for him.

He forgets any other version of himself. Shakes them off like seawater flying from his body as he emerges from the ocean. Venus stood before him; hair lifting in the light, palm over her breast. And he doesn’t notice the departure of those old versions; doesn’t feel the way they tear from his skin. His eyes are glued on you, only you, everything around the two of you reducing to dark matter. There is only his awestruck gaze pointed to your radiant form, as though the scene sits alive in the eye of Botticelli or Michelangelo.

Baby, he whispers, and you move forward, dragging him with you under a wave of lust and rebirth.

He stirs the next morning to the feeling of a weight shifting across his body, two divots in the mattress either side of his waist. Something nuzzling, warm and featherlight, into the nook below his earlobe. Wet kisses trailing down his neck.

There’s no weight of you in the crook of his arm anymore. He’s scooping thin air. He lifts it, and his palm meets the baggy cotton of his own T-shirt, draped over your body, draped over him.

A laugh brushes between his lips. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he croaks, voice still low and broken.

“Hi,” you whisper back, voice like silk and sugar and tufts of lustrous clouds.

He opens his eyes and you’re hovering over him. Tip of your nose circling his, hips light as air across his own.

You look so fucking cute, he thinks. He’d take what he had last night – you, dripping in black lace and bound by satin straps – every night for the rest of his life, if he could. If you’d grant him it. But, this. This.

You – in Joel’s clothes and nothing else. You – the curl of your hair now a lazy wave, the smoky afterthought of your half-removed makeup. The smell of sex still lingering on your skin, the taste of Joel still home on your tongue. Each part of you laced with a part of him.

You – holding yourself up over him, less than an inch apart, and all Joel thinks to do is wrap his arms around your back and let you drop onto his body; his strong, solid body, which accepts the weight of you with only so much as a tiny grunt over his lips when you fall on top of him.

You giggle. He swears he feels butterflies in his stomach. He prays you don’t feel them, fluttering purposefully against your ribcage.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble into his collarbone, words curled by the smile on your lips. You suck a mark into the hot skin, teeth and flesh and sel et sucre, and then push off from his chest, nudging his thighs wider with your knee.

Your tongue drags a wet trail down his chest, from solid sternum to suppler stomach, following the thickening of hair the lower you move. You leave wet kisses along the crests of his hipbones, the gentle slope of skin leading you to the wide base of his cock, already stiff.

Joel’s breath hitches when your tongue sweeps across it. Your eyes lift and lock with his, fingers taking a heavy hold of him. He smiles, tongue sitting patiently behind his teeth.

“Go on, angel,” he nods, “put that pretty little mouth on daddy.”

You obey instantly, as hungry for it as he is, your tongue swiping from the base of him up, curling around as you reach the head. Swollen, gleaming, slit dripping with slick precome that you lick with just the tip of your tongue and send a roll of pleasure across every nerve in Joel’s body.

He falls back, hands searching for the back of your skull as your lips sink further down down down, tightening around the smooth skin, stopping only when they meet the tuft of hair decorating his dick. His tip pushes against the back of your throat. His head begins to spin.

His back arches, hands anchored on your head, holding you steady as you bob up and down. His shoulders push heavy into the mattress, tummy sucks in until the points of his ribcage mold through his skin. And, oh – you’re so soft with it, so wet and so warm and so good with your tongue, kitten licks over his tip, wet fist wrapped tight around the width of him.

You lift your hand and meet his halfway up his stomach, fingers intertwining, Joel’s knuckles instantly whitening.

“Doin’ so good, baby,” he groans, gasping when your throat constricts around him again.

You gag, choking with a wet grunt, but you never pull away. A quick pause, a heavy breath from your nostrils, and your movements resume.

“’s alright,” Joel coos, fingers rubbing against the back of your hand, “you got it. Atta-girl, fuck.”

His hips begin to lift, slowly jerking up into your mouth. He looks down, loosens the grip you have on his hand only to run his thumb delicately across your cheek, dabbing lightly at the tears in the corner of your eye.

You suck hard around him, cheeks hollowing, tongue flattening to his underside to let him fuck your mouth – a rhythm of sopping sounds and heartbeat hums from your throat. He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

“Just like that,” he tells you, and you blink up at him. Moans muffled by the mouthful of cock, saliva and sex slipping from your swollen lips. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come. You’re such a good girl – you want daddy to give it to you?”

Mhm, you mumble into the warmth of his cock, the vibration of your throat on the eager skin enough to send Joel over the fucking edge. He throws his head back, lifts his hips up to you, and fills your mouth at the same rate he fills the room with the sound of his orgasm.

You take every last drop. You’re so good for him. Once he stills, once the screaming in his ears subsides, once the room slowly desaturates back to normal, a faded, blurry normal – he sits up and hooks his hands under your arms, pulling you up into him.

You collapse against his chest for the second time this morning, giggling and licking the last of his come from your mouth. Joel guides your jaw towards his, lips meeting in the middle, and licks the salty aftertaste from your tongue.

He rolls you both over, your thighs sitting safe on his hips.

“I know,” you sigh, head rolling against the curve of his arm beneath, “I know. You don’t gotta tell me.”

“Tell you what, angel?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting.

“Best head you ever had. I know.”

He scoffs, lips finding the hinge of your jaw. You giggle into his ear, a sound softer than birds cooing at the break of dawn, sweeter than the first bite of ripe fruit – the sharp taste bursting across his tongue and coating his teeth in sugar, numbed by the holy coaxing of feathered doves.

“You’re good with it, I’ll give you that,” he murmurs, and the giggle erupts into a laugh which fuels him enough to follow your roll out of bed, tear his shirt from your shoulders, and slip into the shower behind you, kneeling before you when you turn to look.

Joel’s second encounter with Jean-Marc in as many days, goes about as well as the first.

He balls his fists as he introduces the pair of you, watches like a caged and bound animal as Jean-Marc’s eyes loop all around your face, your shoulders, the pull of your dress around your waist.

He knows he’s being quiet. The glances you keep stealing at him tell him you know it, too. He wishes there was something he could say, something his lips might be able to carve into a neat little sentence. Tongue sanding the jagged edges of what he’d really like to say into a joke, a quip to ease the tension you so obviously feel.

But he can’t. His tongue isn’t blunt, isn’t defensive. It’s sharp like the kiss of venom, protective and aggressive. He knows he’d do better to hold it tight between his teeth.

The best he finds himself able to do is keep a heavy hand on your thigh, let you wrap your fingers around his own, squeeze you in place of whispering in your ear.

You hold your own, up against Jean-Marc. He knew you would. He learned less than a week into working with you, not to underestimate you. Your quick tongue, the million and one observations hidden behind the flash of a frown. He knows you can read Jean-Marc – probably better than he can, having known the guy ten years.

It doesn’t make it feel any safer, though. Luring you into a lion’s den. He knows you’ll make it out alive, but he can’t stand the thought of the claw marks in your skin.

That feeling washes over him again – that urge scored so deep into his bones that it hits marrow, to put himself between you and anything which might come to harm you. He swallows it down with the acidic sting of orange juice – slots it somewhere safe in his chest until he can assess whatever the fuck it is. Whatever the fuck it means.

His hand tightens around your leg when Jean-Marc mutters something to his assistant. Joel decides against asking you what it means, for fear he’ll tear the Frenchman limb from limb, strips of satin robe strung across the paved patio.

The assistant – tall, thin, looming over you like impending doom on legs – offers to show you the view of the city. And as Jean-Marc settles into your empty chair, the image of that torn satin robe shunts closer towards reality.

“I wonder if you might indulge me,” Jean-Marc slithers, pinching thin air with one hand and resting the other on the back of Joel’s chair.

“I wonder,” Joel mutters, finger tapping angrily on the table.

“She is a wonderful character. Beautiful, and very smart, I can see. I would be crazy not to ask, you must understand, Joel –”

He can’t help himself. He bites before Jean-Marc lays the trap. His head shakes. “She’s – she’s –”

And suddenly there isn’t a single word in the English dictionary worthy of describing you. Not a single combination of letters, of sounds, of syllables and phonetics that would do you justice.

He settles for, “I wouldn’t be anywhere without her.” It feels fucking redundant. It is fucking redundant.

Jean-Marc nods. “And you know that I see the value in things, hm?”

Joel dead-eyes his opponent, gaze narrowing. “What are you sayin’, Jean-Marc?”

“Well,” he shrugs, gesturing to the shadow pointing out the Eiffel Tower, “Paul is fantastic. Dedicated, hardworking. But it is a lot, for one person. I am sure you can understand, being that you have two assistants yourself.”

“And you wanna take one of ‘em out from under me?”

Jean-Marc chuckles, shaking his head. Tutting. Teeth grinding. He senses the bitter tone, hears the distortion of words squeezing through gritted teeth. “Not at all, my dear Joelie, not at all.”

Placating. It pisses Joel off more.

“I simply would like to raise the question of: would she like to be…taken?”

“Taken?”

“Hired. By me.”

The smug grin which pulls over taut lips incites Joel with a desire to punch the luminous veneers from their gummy holders. His fist balls again, nails digging harshly into his palm. He swallows roughly.

“She seems…she seems happy enough where she is to me.” He glances over, catches your eye for a fleeting second before Paul’s ghostly hand perches on your shoulder and turns your attention away again. Resigned, he adds, “You would have to ask her. I ain’t speakin’ for her.”

Jean-Marc’s leer only grows. “Ask her,” he repeats, nodding. “That is an idea.” He pushes out of his chair with a squeal of wood across stone, calling to the party, “Why don’t we take a drive? There is so much of the city I would love to show you – both of you, of course.”

Before he knows it, Joel’s on his feet, too, panic hammering through every muscle in his body. He tosses some half-assed excuse to the breeze; a half-truth, a desperate attempt to pull you away from the beady eyes and sharp claws of Jean-Marc and his assistant, and back over to his side. He takes your arm and scatters, pulling you past four, five, six bursting bouquets, your heels clicking along the polished floor, your head spinning.

He can feel the blood thrashing through his veins as the elevator arrives back in the lobby. Can see the shadow of Paul the assistant still over your shoulder, the place his hand sat like charcoal on white linen. He feels red hot, anger mixed with panic mixed with a word he hasn’t let slip just yet. He covers it by answering your questions shakily, diverting the ones about the conversation on the terrace.

And then you’re back in the safety of Denis’s car. You’re back to being on your own, together. No third set of eyes watching your every move, studying you like you’re some doll to be observed, or worse. You’re touching him again, holding his arm, caressing his cheek. His breathing eases, his body relaxes into the backseat of the Maybach.

You tell him you’d like to see the Louvre. So Joel takes you to see the Louvre.

Joel Miller has never been in love.

He’s said it, sure. Said it plenty to Avery.

G’night, love you.

I’m so proud of you, sweet; I love you so much.

Thanks for makin’ dinner, babe, I love you.

It began to take the form of breath, passing over his tongue with as much ease and instinct as his lungs would push out air. She looked at him a certain way – he’d say he loved her. They’d talk about the future – he’d tell her he loved her. They fought, over his working hours or the interest rates at different banks or whose family to spend Christmas with – and he’d remind her he loved her.

He meant every single one. He did, truly, love her. He loved her auburn hair, the way it’d sweep over her shoulders like a wave of fire. He loved the way she would pause to take thirty photos of the sky at sunset. He loved how homely she was, how simple and warm she could be. Her recipe books lining the shelves in her kitchen. Her pajamas folded neatly at the foot of her bed, waiting for her at the end of the day.

He loved her enough to spend four years with her, a life split nearly down the middle. Never seeping into one another. His side of the bed, and hers. His items in the fridge, and hers. His fucking bathrobe, and hers.

But right now, standing in a jam-packed room, maneuvering awkwardly around museum guides and backpacked tourists, avoiding the knee-height glass barriers and dodging fucking selfie sticks – Joel knows: he has never been in love.

Not until the moment he turns from some headless bust to search the room – the dark marble walls and great, carved arches; the white Parisian sky illuminating everything in a pale glow. Not until he catches a glimpse of you amongst the sea of bodies – stood before the Venus de Milo, staring up in wonder at Aphrodite like she’s the first thing in the world you’ve ever truly seen. The gentle lean of her body, the low sling of marble fabric around her waist, the soft dimple of her navel.

The way your eyes scan every detail of her form – every fold draped over her thigh, ever chisel mark and chip in her torso. The round swell of her breasts and the wavelike swirl of her hair. Barely blinking, afraid to lose sight of her for even a second.

Joel’s never been in love. Not until this very moment.

He only turned to make some quip about…well, now he can’t fucking remember, can he? Something irrelevant. Something so mundane, so meaningless, so dull that he wishes he could take back every word he ever said to you and use the breath more wisely – use the time spent making stupid jokes and work orders, just to look at you. Watch you, like he is right now. Every other thought, every worry and concern drop weightlessly from his mind, with such ease that he doesn’t feel the loss.

Your fixed stare up at the statue’s set face, the slow pacing of your heels, ankles crossing over one another as you pivot around her. And the look of wonder on your face – as if Joel instantly recognizes eight-year-old you, thumbing through the pages of the first art book she was ever gifted, copying the curled hair and round shoulders of the marble goddess in a pencil sketch.

Haloed by the towering windows behind you, arms crossed over your chest. Lips melting from a content smile to agape, and then pinning back in a smile again.

And suddenly – he can’t remember the flame of hair over his ex’s shoulder. Doesn’t remember a single meal she ever cooked for him. In the blink of an eye, he realizes he doesn’t want a life neatly split anywhere.

He realizes that his life, the way he wants it, was always meant to be meshed with yours. Intertwined so tightly that there is no his and hers. Last night at dinner, you couldn’t decide between the bœuf bourguignon and the confit de canard, so Joel ordered both – as well as what he wanted – and the two of you picked at three separate meals. Holding out forkfuls to feed one another, comparing and judging them like professional chefs on a fucking cooking show.

Back at the hotel, you fell asleep in his arms. Your head nestled under his chin; your arms curved around his shoulders. In the center of the bed, laying at an angle. When he got up this morning, the robe he threw around himself smelled like your perfume. The terrycloth on your shoulders, tinged with the weak scent of whiskey.

None of it – not the relationship you had before any of this happened, not the strolling over one boundary to the next, not the blurring of lines between colleague, and friend, and lover – has been neat. None of it has made any sense. And maybe that’s why he fucking trusts it so much.

Joel spent the first two weeks after you fooled around in his office swearing he wasn’t that guy. Staring himself down in the mirror with a balled fist, a pointed finger that said, You don’t sleep with your fucking assistant, you idiot.

And now, standing opposite you in a crowded room and only seeing you – he knows. He finally gets it.

He loves you. He – no, fuck.

He doesn’t just love you.

He’s on his knees, dagger through his heart –

blood spilling all over the pristine floor –

pathetic and adolescent in its nature –

butterflies tearing through his stomach as destructive as a hurricane –

in love with you.

He thinks to say it. To wander over and kiss your shoulder, hook his chin into your collarbone like he did in the Dolce and Gabbana store, and whisper, Hey. I love you. Did you know that?

But he knows that’d be fucking insane. Knows you’d probably unstick yourself from him and back up, tripping in your step. Paris ruined.

He knows he’d probably get so far as curving around your back and then bottle it, anyway. The words would die in his throat. You’d just lean back into him, none the wiser. You’d still make his heart pound.

Pound the way it does when you reach for his wrist and drag him off into the next room, and the next, and the next. And with every piece of art your eyes fall upon, another fragment of your soul is revealed to Joel. The depth of da Vinci, the color of Bruyère. The scale of Veronese and the beauty of Canova.

And with every part revealed, a desire blooms in him to learn the next part. Understand you; know you better than he knows himself. See you, the way he’s seeing you right now.

He takes his ex’s lead, when you’re stood in front of the Mona Lisa. All those fucking sunset photos, like she was afraid to forget what it looked like. The thought becomes urgent, pushing past every other meaningless word in his head.

He taps you on the shoulder, says your name lightly. When you turn, he’s already holding the phone up, watching your delayed motions through the screen. Please don’t let me forget this. Don’t let me forget you, like this.

“Smile,” he says, and you do.

“You’re cheesy,” you tell him, wandering off from the painting.

He’s still staring at the photo. At your dimpled cheeks, your red lips. Staring at your eyes, seeing a new glint in them that wasn’t there before. Like eight-year-old you smiling back at him, trusting him, knowing him.

Joel breathes, “She’s beautiful,” taking your waist in a steady arm to guide you out of the room.

You misunderstand him. He knows it. He doesn’t correct you.

She’s beautiful – the Mona Lisa. But she only became beautiful the second you laid eyes on her. The second she handed you a piece of your soul, the transaction laid bare for Joel to witness. A bucket list item ticked, or simply your childhood self, stood before one of her own seven wonders.

Everything is only beautiful after it comes into contact with you.

There’s a change in you, the morning that you leave. Something low-lying, melancholy and blue. Joel feels it under your skin, in the grip you keep on his hand the entire car ride from the hotel to the airport.

“You good?” he asks, walking up the steps of the jet, shelled around you. Safe, with him, safe with him.

You nod, but you’re watching the Maybach roll off, rounding the corner back to the airport. The same way you watch the city disappear beneath the clouds as the plane takes off.

The same way you glance over to him, your glossy eyes twinkling, pearly tears swimming across your waterline. Joel gets it. Figures he feels much the same.

He leads you slowly back through to the dark cabin bedroom, where you peel the shirt and sweats from your body. He watches from the bed, arm outstretched and inviting you to burrow into his side, curl around his body, loop your legs through his. His own little Aphrodite, the curves and the dimples and all the beauty to go with her.

He sinks his shoulder to let you nuzzle into him, let your slow-closing eyes follow his movements like rocking you back and forth to sleep. You link your arm through his, locking your bodies tight together. Joel slows his typing down, moves gentler, so you can fall asleep without being nudged too much by his arm.

You mumble something into the sleeve of his tee. He pauses. Looks down at your already closed eyes, your parted lips.

“What’d you say, baby?”

You take a deep, slow breath. Already sleeping, he thinks. And then, in the sigh that escapes from your mouth, you whisper to him.

“Please don’t ever leave.”

[apeachty]

₊ ˚ ⊹ ♡ . ⠀fever care

note : the only thing worse than having a fever is having to work while having a fever. so here's another self-insert smau where all the poor souls can imagine they can sleep all day and be scolded taken care of by txt

once again, ooc, self-insert, just ignore me. i like how it looks on my blog and need to pour my ideas somewhere

ot5 x reader, but implied yeonjun x reader romantically [ told you it's self-insert ]

also coming up with titles sucks oh gosh

you sighed as the notification “jjun-jjun is calling” lit up your lockscreen. yeonjun could be so stubborn sometimes. maybe this wasn’t the worst condition he could catch you in, but the thought of him seeing your tired, feverish face didn’t sit well.

still, you knew there was no escaping him. with a resigned breath, you tapped the accept button and immediately turned the screen face down on the bed, listening to his frustrated sigh on the other end.

“pick it up,” yeonjun demanded, his voice firm yet laced with concern. “let me look into the shameless eyes of someone who got a fever and hid it from everyone.”

you groaned, picking up the phone and reluctantly propping yourself up against the headboard, your hoodie pulled low to hide most of your face. “i wasn’t hiding,” you mumbled, avoiding your reflection on the screen. “i was just… not broadcasting it. don’t be mad.”

yeonjun sighed, running a hand through his hair. his expression softened slightly, though his frustration was evident. “i’m not mad because you’re sick. i’m mad because you don’t let us—me—be there for you.” he exhaled, his voice quieter now, as he saw your little pout. “okay, maybe i’m not mad. but don’t scare us like that again, yeah? you disappeared for the whole day.”

you nodded, guilt creeping in as you fidgeted with the strings of your hoodie. “i’m sorry. i promise it won’t happen again.”

his lips twitched into a small, relieved smile. “good. you look sleepy. you should rest if you need to. but don’t forget to drink water, okay? lots of it,” he instructed, waiting for you to nod again before continuing. “and call me if you need anything. i’ll even sing you ‘lonely boy’ as a lullaby. i might even drag kai into it.”

a small, breathy laugh escaped you, and you couldn’t help but smile at his effort to cheer you up. “yes, sir.”

“good girl,” he said softly, his smile growing just a bit wider before the call ended.

bonus under the cut [ kinda a bit suggestive one but not too much ]

[iamgonnagetyouback]

HEYYY BAE HOW ARE YOU soo i got request about Shawn Mendes and like it like him in an interview saying how most of his lyrics is about reader or memory with her and they are dating AND THANK YOUU

𝟷𝚔 || 𝐈𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐂

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: The way Shawn talked about you in his interview made your heart flutter.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Shawn Mendes x Reader

You sat on the couch with a cozy blanket wrapped around you, sipping a cup of tea as the familiar face of your boyfriend appeared on the TV screen. The interviewer smiled brightly, introducing Shawn and his latest album, and you couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in your chest. He had been working so hard, pouring his heart and soul into every song, and now the world was about to hear his story.

"And, of course, we have to talk about these lyrics," the interviewer began, pulling out a card with a smirk. "Fans have been speculating—who is the muse behind the songs? Especially the one that goes, 'I'm a couple hundred miles from Japan, and I was thinking I could fly to your hotel tonight.'"

You knew that song. Your heart raced as you remembered the day Shawn had written it. He had been on tour, far away, missing you like crazy. He'd called you late at night, voice soft and full of longing as he spoke about how much he wanted to be with you, no matter the distance. And now here it was, out in the world for everyone to hear.

Shawn chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, a telltale sign he was about to get shy. "Yeah, that one’s… well, it’s about my girlfriend," he admitted, his cheeks slightly pink. "A lot of my songs are, actually."

You felt your heart do a little flip. Hearing him say that on national television was surreal.

The interviewer leaned forward, intrigued. "So, most of your lyrics are about her?"

"Yeah," Shawn nodded with a soft smile, his eyes lighting up as he thought about you. "She's... she's incredible. I mean, we’ve been together for a while now, and every time I’m with her, it’s just..." He paused, his voice lowering as if he was only speaking to you. "Every night I’m with her, I fall more in love. You know? Like in the song—‘Now I’m laying by your side, everything feels right since you came along.’”

Your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t expecting him to quote those lyrics on air, let alone say it with such raw emotion.

The interviewer smiled, clearly touched by Shawn’s sincerity. "That's beautiful, Shawn. Fans are going to be so jealous of her."

Shawn laughed, but his gaze softened. "I’m the lucky one. She makes everything better. And, you know, sometimes when I'm far away—like on tour in Japan or wherever—I'm just thinking about how I can get back to her as soon as possible."

You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes. The love he was describing, the way he spoke about you with such reverence, made your heart swell.

Back on the screen, the interview wrapped up, and Shawn waved to the camera before they cut to commercial. As soon as the show ended, your phone buzzed with a text.

Shawn: Did you watch it? You: I did. You’re so cheesy. Shawn: Only for you ;)

You smiled, typing quickly.

You: It was perfect. You were perfect. I miss you. Shawn: Miss you more. I’ll be home soon. Promise.

You curled back into the couch, heart warm and full. Shawn had a way of making you feel like the center of his universe, whether he was a couple hundred miles away or right there by your side. And knowing that so many of the lyrics that touched millions of hearts were about you? It was a feeling you’d never get used to—but you cherished every second of it.

thank you so much for the request!! ps. i am doing great

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 9 - Made a promise to be kept

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate.

Word count: 3.2K

TWs: Illness, self-esteem issues, discussion of spanking, handjob/masturbation, voyeurism, suggestion of ass play, possessive kink.

Tegan spends the day at work feeling gradually more and more ill, so she decides to pick up a few things on her way home in case she can’t get out to get them the next day. It’s probably just a cold she picked up from the kids at the weekend, but she doesn’t want to have to drag herself out of bed and look for cough medicine if it’s worse than that. As she gets out of the car she suddenly remembers that Elvis basically lives in her apartment right now, and she could send him out to get things. Part of her wonders what on earth he’d come back with, but she also realises she’s been on her own for so long she’s forgotten what it’s like to rely on someone else.

Elvis fusses her and tries to insist on her resting, but she’s too worried about what kind of dinner he’ll cook without her help, so she tells him she doesn’t feel that bad. And she doesn’t, not really. Not until she tries to sleep. They lie down together as usual and she lets her mind drift off, but her thoughts stop making sense. It’s as if she’s put the words in a blender and then poured them out, and all the while she’s sweating and starting to wonder if her legs belong to her or have been swapped out for someone else’s. Eventually she tosses and turns herself fully awake, body hot and arms outside of the duvet freezing cold, sweat dampening the hair at the back of her head. 

“Queenie?” Elvis whispers. He looks at the digital clock by the bed. 2.30am. He’s been awake this whole time, watching her thrash about in her sleep and listening to the odd random word she’d mumbled. 

She rolls over and looks up into his concerned face. “Elvis, I’m sick.”

He strokes her forehead gently. “I can see that, baby.”

She closes her eyes again and groans. He presses a little kiss to her forehead now, carefully moving her sweaty hair out of her face. 

“Try ‘an go back ta sleep, honey.”

She groans again. “I’ll try.”

She closes her eyes but Elvis feels like a furnace next to her, he’s making it even hotter in the bed that already seems like it might be on fire. Then she hears him start to sing. 

Forever, my darling / Our love will be true / Always and forever / I'll love only you / Just promise me, darling / Your love in return / May this fire in my soul, dear / Forever burn

Her mouth curls into a smile and she opens her eyes again. 

“That’s cute.”

“Mmmm. I’m trying ta sing ya ta sleep.”

She giggles, putting her hand on his cheek. “Oh ‘raur. Don’t take this the wrong way but… you’re going to keep me awake if you keep doing that.”

Elvis immediately looks hurt and she wishes she could take it back. “Hm. Forget it then.” He flops onto his back, sighing loudly. He doesn’t mind staying up late, in fact he kind of enjoys it, but he wants to be asleep right now. When you’re asleep you can’t feel rejected.

“‘Raur.” Tegan rolls onto her side, leaning over him to look into his face and seeing his eyes firmly shut. “I’m sorry. I love your singing.” She nuzzles his cheek. “I just don’t find it very sleep-inducing.”

He grumbles again. 

“You could sing to me when I feel better. I’d like that.” She’s still feeling a bit delirious from the fever and so she puts her head on his chest and says, “I’d really like that, Elvis.”

“Why’s ‘at then?” He huffs. 

She giggles into his pyjama top. “‘Cause I’d find it a turn on.”

His lips curl into a smile at the revelation and he starts singing again, right in her ear.

My heart's at your command, dear / To keep, love, and to hold / Making you happy's my desire / Keeping you is my goal

She giggles even more. “Stop it! I’m sick!”

“Alright then. Try ‘an sleep. I won’t sing this time.”

She props herself back up on her elbow again. “You’re making the bed kind of hot…” She pulls an awkward face, knowing he won’t like this either. 

He sighs deeply. “First ya won’t let me sing ya ta sleep, now ya want me on the couch.”

“I’m sorry. But you won’t sleep well with me here either.”

He curls a stray piece of hair back behind her ear. “This’d be a damned sight easier if we were at Graceland.”

“But I like my apartment. And you like my apartment. Don’t you?”

“Hmmm. Yeah. But not when I have ta sleep on the couch. I’m an old man, my back can’t take it.”

Tegan doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable, but she can’t see how she’s going to sleep at all with him in the bed. 

He shakes his head and sits up. “But I’ll go. I’ll see ya in the mornin’ baby.”

***

When Tegan doesn’t appear at the usual time, Elvis picks up the phone and calls her work. He causes quite a kerfuffle, being Elvis Presley and everything, but it does mean that they believe him when he says he’s not sure if she’ll be in for the rest of the week. He pads around the kitchen making coffee and rummaging around in the cupboards for anything else she might want. When he’s finished he puts it all on a tray and then sets it down on the side, slowly pushing her bedroom door open and peering inside. 

“Honey?” He says softly, into the semi-darkness. 

Tegan grumbles. She’d woken up a while ago, but she didn’t really want to move. She still doesn’t want to move now, so she burrows further into the bedding. Elvis walks around the bed and gets in next to her, gently putting an arm over her. She grumbles again. 

“I made ya coffee,” he murmurs into her hair. 

“Thanks. I feel like my throat’s full of broken glass.”

Elvis pulls her against him, kissing the top of her head. “Ya want it now?”

“Please.”

He gives her another kiss and then gets up again, fetching the tray and bringing it in. She sits up slowly, pulling pillows behind her to prop her up and looking with some interest at the contents of the tray. 

“I thought you were just bringing coffee?”

Elvis puts it down on her lap. “Well I thought these might help.”

Tegan looks at the rest of the contents of the tray in bewilderment. There’s painkillers, which make sense, next to two cups of steaming coffee. So far, so good. But then there’s a box of crackers, a bottle of gatorade (which she’s quite sure she didn’t buy, so she’s confused as to what it’s doing in her apartment) three or four candy bars (which, again, she didn’t buy) and a packet of lemsip. Just, on its own. Without hot water or a cup. She rubs her forehead in confusion and then just giggles. 

“What?”

She hands him his coffee and takes hers, setting the tray down on the bed between them. Coughing a little, she takes a few sips of her drink to try and make her throat feel a bit better before replying. 

“I bought a load of cough drops and things at the shops yesterday,” she explains. “They’re in the cupboard over the sink.” 

“Oh,” he sighs. He didn’t sleep well on the couch at all, and he’s starting to feel a little like everything he does at the moment is wrong. “Ya want those?”

She takes another sip of coffee. “In a bit.”

He huffs again. She raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Everythin’ I do fer ya, ya don’t like.”

Tegan sighs, and then she puts her head on his shoulder. “That’s not true. This coffee is actually alright.”

She means to make him laugh but he just groans, moving her off him and getting up again. 

“I’m no good at this.” 

She watches in disbelief as he walks back out of the room again. “Elvis!” She calls after him, then bursts into a fresh round of coughing. “‘Raur?” 

When she sees he’s not coming back, she decides to get up, slowly pulling on panties and an old Elvis sweater she found the other day in the back of her closet. She pushes on slippers and then pads out of the room, carrying her coffee. He’s always telling her off for wandering about the place naked, so she hopes this will do. She coughs a bit more and sniffs, finding him sat on the couch watching MTV. Wandering over to the cupboard she grabs a handful of cough drops, Vicks and tissues, and then walks over to the couch. Looking away from the TV for a moment, he’s greeted by the sight of his girlfriend walking around in a sweater with his name on it and a pair of boxer-style panties. It’s hard to stay mad. 

“Where’d this come from?” He asks, tugging at her sleeve as she sits down next to him. 

“Found it in my closet. I think I must’ve bought it when I was a teenager. I’m amazed it still fits, but it was pretty baggy on me back then.”

“I like it,” he announces, because he really does. “No panties with my name on?”

She smirks. “I bet I could find some.”

He pats his thigh. “C’mon. Lap.”

Elvis has got in the habit of telling her to get onto his lap if she doesn’t do it of her own accord, and although it makes her feel a little bit like a pet dog, she does kind of like it. And she likes cuddling up with him like this anyway. So she sits sideways on his lap so she can still watch the TV, his arm firmly around her. She sneezes. 

“I’m gonna give you this, if you keep cuddling up to me all the time.”

Elvis huffs again. “Ya want me ta go? I’ll just go.” He lets go of her so she can get up if she wants. 

“I didn’t say that, ‘raur.” She cuddles into him more, her fingers playing with the buttons on his pyjama top. “I just don’t want you to get sick too. I like you being here. I’d be lonely without you.” 

“Hmmm. Wouldn’t want ya ta be lonely.”

His arm returns to its previous position, but he still feels uncomfortable. He’s a protector, but he’s not much of a caregiver, and he feels like he ought to be. After having a child, he thinks he should be better at knowing what to do when someone is sick, but he and Cilla had always sort of farmed that out to other people. 

“I was only teasing, earlier, you know?” She says after they’ve been sitting there quietly for a while, watching music videos. 

“Should’ve known,” Elvis mutters. “Should be good at looking after sick people by now.”

Tegan shifts to look into his eyes, which stare back, full of sadness. “You couldn’t know what was in my cupboards, I didn’t tell you. But you could’ve just asked what I wanted. That might’ve been easier.”

“Oh. I suppose so.”

“It’s cute though. How much you try.”

He huffs. “Don’t wanna be cute.”

“That’s tough really, isn’t it? Because you are so cute,” she teases, rubbing her nose against his. 

“Ya do really emasculate me sometimes, honey. Callin’ me pretty an’ cute. Next thing I know you’ll be plaiting my hair an’ puttin’ on make-up.”

Tegan giggles. “You put make-up on yourself in the 50s, didn’t you? Come to think of it, in the 60s and 70s too, blodyn.”

“What are ya callin’ me now?”

She bites her lip. “Blodyn. It’s a term of endearment, but literally it means flower.”

“Flower?!” He rages for a second, and then laughs. “Yer really callin’ me flower. Aha. I see.”

“Yeah I am. My little blodyn, fy blodyn bach, taking care of me while I’m sick.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “If ya weren’t sick, ya’d be gettin’ a spankin’ for this…”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He gives her a quick hard slap to the side of her thigh, making her yelp, and then kisses her gently on the lips. “I’ll put it on the list of things ta do when you’re well again. Sing ta ya and then spank the livin’ daylights outta ya.”

***

Tegan gets worse over the next few days, and spends them mainly in bed, with Elvis ferrying hot drinks and soup back and forth. Around day four he starts to get sick too, and although he's grumpy about it he only really gets a sniffle and a bit of a cough for a day or two. Tegan is still exhausted a week later, but she drags herself out of bed to sit on the couch. 

“Feelin’ any better, baby?” Elvis asks, pulling her onto his lap as usual and arranging a blanket around her. 

“Hmmm. Just tired.” Tegan’s head flops against his chest. 

“Can I get ya anything? Ya hungry?”

“Yeah, I am actually. Nothing in the apartment worth eating though.”

“Why don't I go out and get us a little breakfast, baby?”

She sits up and strokes his cheek lovingly. “That would be great if you feel OK?” She puts her hand on his forehead to check his temperature, worrying that he's more ill than he's letting on. 

“I feel fine, baby. Jus’ sniffin’ a bit s’all.”

“Don't know how you've got away with that but I shouldn't complain. Don't want to lose my nursemaid.”

Elvis shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “What have I told ya about that? ‘M not a nursemaid.”

Tegan giggles. “Sorry. You're doing such a good job of taking care of me, though.”

He puffs up with pride. “I am?”

“Yes!” She kisses him on the lips. “I don't know what I'd have done without you.”

He grins, pleased to feel useful for a change. “Alright then. You stay there and keep warm and I’ll go and get us some breakfast.”

Tegan chuckles to herself about staying warm in the middle of September in Memphis, but she doesn't say anything. It's sweet of him to worry. As she waits for him to come back, she thinks about how sweet he's been this whole week. It was obvious not being able to take care of her instinctively bothered him, but he'd taken her advice and actually asked what she wanted and by now he was pretty good at feeding her and bringing her medicine. He'd even got in the shower with her a couple of times and helped her wash when she'd been too tired to want to do it on her own. 

***

After breakfast, Elvis watches Tegan take the plates from the couch into the kitchen. She’s still only wearing panties and that old sweater, and he feels his body react to the sight of her ass jiggling a little as it makes its way around the apartment. It’s happened the past couple of mornings, but he’s done his best to ignore Little Elvis and concentrate on looking after Tegan. This morning, though, he’s really making himself known and Elvis isn’t sure he’s going to be able to ignore him. 

Tegan’s too tired to notice the look on his face, flopping back down next to him and putting her legs up on his lap.

“Honey, ya can’t keep wanderin’ about the place like this,” he tells her. 

“Hmmm? Why?” 

He takes her hand and puts it on his now fully-hard dick. She moves her head and her eyes go wide. 

“Oh.” She doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t want to tell him to sort himself out, but she’s not sure she has the energy to do anything for him either. Plus she’s not exactly feeling that sexy right now.  

“I-it’s okay,” he stutters. “I…uh… I can sort myself out.”

Tegan shakes her head and squeezes him. “No, I wanna help.”

“Honey, you’re still sick.”

She sighs, her head back on his shoulder. “Well, at least let me watch then.”

She hears him cough awkwardly, as if he’s trying to swallow down something particularly difficult. 

“W-watch?”

“Mmmm. Y’know. You jerk yourself and I’ll… watch.”

“I think I might feel a bit self-conscious, baby.”

“Why? I’ve seen your dick before. And, spoiler alert, I know what happens at the end.”

She hears a grumbling deep in his throat. “I’ve never… done that before. In front of someone.”

“Oh. Well I promise I’d enjoy it.”

He moves his head and shoulder so that she has to look at him. “Would ya?”

She nods. “Here. Why don’t I help you?” 

Reaching down to undo the garish belt he’s wearing, she unzips his pants. He shuffles around to make it easier for her to release Little Elvis from his boxers, then moans softly as she pumps him up and down a couple of times. Letting go, she takes his hand from where it’s resting on his thigh and guides it towards his dick. He takes over stroking himself, enjoying the feeling of the kisses she starts to press to his neck and ear. His other hand reaches around to her ass, grabbing a handful and sighing softly to himself. She bites her lip, thinking about how else she can help him.

“You want me to do this?” She asks, slipping her hand in his boxers to massage his balls. 

He groans. “Yes please.”

She squeezes them gently a few times, and then starts to get other ideas. One of her fingers rubs the skin just below them, and he almost jumps. 

“Honey!”

She giggles. “No?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“I swear you’re supposed ta be sick.”

She goes back to massaging, her lips pressing against his. “I am. I just thought you might like a little assistance.”

He kisses her and then pulls back again. “I don’t need yer finger up my asshole.”

Tegan can’t help herself, bursting out laughing, pulling her hand away from him to slap her thigh in amusement. 

“It wasn’t your arsehole, cariad. It was your taint.”

Elvis tilts his head to one side and huffs out a sigh. “Yer on very thin ice, y’know that? Even sick girls can get a spanking.”

She giggles, cuddling into him and kissing his collarbone. “Sorry, ‘raur. Please carry on. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

She doesn’t really, they hang around his neck as he kisses her, run over his chest, even wrap around his own hand to help him as he gets closer to release. But she does resist the temptation to put them in his boxers again. At least for now. 

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he breathes in her ear, his lips and teeth finding the lobe. 

“Let me see,” she replies, looking down as he kisses her neck and makes a mess of his hand and pants. 

“Oh fuck. You do like me wandering around in these panties.”

“Mmmm.”

They sit there for a while longer, until he decides he has to get cleaned up. 

“You enjoy that?” She calls after him, as he walks towards the bathroom. 

He turns and smiles. “More ‘an I thought I would.” He fixes her with an intense stare. “But not as much as I’d enjoy fucking that pussy a mine, baby. Hurry up and get well.”

***

Part 10

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy

[libertyybellls]

silver soul !

pairing; finnick odair x fem reader

summary; you’ve been reaped for the 68th annual games,as you say your goodbyes you realize the ocean is not the only thing you are leaving behind.

contains ; ANGST, sadness, unconfessed loves.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

you’re sitting atop the smoothest rock nearing the shoreline, too close to be dry but too far to be soaked. the air is cool despite the season. something somber lays in the air- as if nature can read the silence between you and finnick.

oh, finnick.

you wait for him to speak, for him to say goodbye and let you go. let you move onto your impending doom. but he doesn’t speak- he doesn’t even move. no noise is emitting from him, you’re not even sure you can hear his breathing- the typically obnoxious huffs and puffs he exudes are gone and he remains next to you in these final moments on district 4- refusing to speak.

he’d prayed to any god that would listen for the 68th hunger games to have mercy on you. he wouldn’t give just an arm and a leg for your safety. he would give anything that belonged to him to ensure that you’d return home, back to him, back to whatever you two were in.

he could’ve crumpled to the floor when he’d heard your name called, when nobody had volunteered. why you? why not anyone else? anyone but her.

“i’ll be okay.”

you couldn’t promise that, you knew it was a lie, you’re only 16, you have nothing to depend on getting you through the games.

“i’ll be your mentor. i’ll find you sponsors. let me help you.” finnick pleads, his eyes lowly looking into yours.

it is only then you want to break into pieces in his arms. you want to sob. you want to retreat back to your family, back to his safe presence. he looks so pure with the sparkle of grace in his eye, deeply at variance to the picture that’s been painted to the capitol. his altruistic belief in you when even now, you are certain you won’t make it far in these games, gives you a rush.

you don’t respond to his desperate offers. you only look down to your lap- at your dress playing with the simple garment. you laugh breathily, “what are the odds.”

‘not in my favor’ he selfishly thinks. he may still have a life whether you win or lose this game- but will he be alive? will he have his anchor?

he shames the world, shames the capitol, shames all of the people who sat back and let you walk onto that stage, shames the game makers who would ever let you step foot in that arena. he needs you to be okay. this world is cruel, cruel to do this to his girl.

“please trust me, i will get you out of these games. you will be a victor and we can live in peace, y/n.”

he sins. he lies. he deceives. straight through his teeth. no matter the outcome you will never live in peace once your out of this. you will never be the same girl.

you think back to his own games. though he has yet to directly say his nightly terrors, his daily horrors, the acts he’s committed that he will never say as he looks into your loving eyes. the capitol has not had lenience on this boy, only a boy, but with troubles of a man.

there is no outcome of this predicament that either of you favor. no scenario in which the world grants you the rest you deserve. you want to scream, cry, pour your heart into him. let him fully consume every fiber that holds you together, all the words you’ve never yet said to him lay heavy on your heart. now it is your turn to stay silent, to lose all oxygen in your lungs, let the blood leave your face. but your voice fails you, “i trust you finnick.”

i trust that i am safe with you. i trust that you won’t let me die. i trust that i will make it back to you. i trust you.

he pulls you into him, his cheeks are wet, there’s a lump in his throat but he does not speak. he simply holds your head onto his chest- his fingers lock into yours as if that’s where they were made to lay.

your words continue to lie dormant in the back of your shared minds- but you let the angry waves speak for you. the greying sky share your sadness, the cold drops of water that reach your legs will bring you back to life- rejuvenate your soul ties. this is the peace you’ve been granted- this is all that is fair in your life.

only in this moment will he have you as you are now, in his arms, still so fragile but he holds you intact.

[loves0phelia]

Hello

I have this writing where we read the pov of Matt and it is sort a love letter to Y/n. We read about his thoughts about her, how much he loves her and it is very poetic and lovely perhaps even a bit sad. Let me know your thoughts 😊

Letter

Summery: The request but sad ++ (oops)

Words: 809 (it's small sorry)

Warnings: spelling mistakes, and it kind of doesn't make sense in some parts

A/N: listen to LOML by Taylor Swift while reading and thank you for the request xxx

“I’ve always heard that love is blind. I used to think I understood what that meant, that I could grasp the irony of it all, given my circumstances. But then you came into my life, and suddenly, the phrase took on a new meaning—one I never expected.

It's in the way you move through my world, unaware of the light you carry in my fire-filled sight. I can’t see it, but I feel your warmth in the air when you’re near. Your presence makes me feel something I've never experienced.

You make me wish I could see, not to take in the world around me, but to truly see you—the way you smile when you think no one’s watching, the exact colour of your eyes when they light up and the way you look at me. I wish more than anything to be able to feel your love through a simple glance.

I spend so much time running through shadows, but with you, it’s different. With you, I don’t fear the darkness; I embrace it because it brings me closer to you. Your body against mine, your laughter and simply you being you pulls me to you and I can't help it. If I could, I would stay with you forever.

Sometimes, it feels wrong to be so attached to you when I promised to give my full attention to making this city a better place. Because I know that if you asked me too I would drop everything to be where you are. Even if it meant abandoning what I've built and cherished. You are worth more than anything.  You’ve intertwined yourself into my soul.  I am not me without you.

Every time I close my eyes, it’s your face I see, your voice I hear, your touch I crave. You are my calm in the chaos, the one thing that makes all the noise in my head fade into silence.

But a heartache comes with loving you, an ache that I can’t ignore. It’s the knowledge that I’ll never fully deserve you, that the darkness I carry will always be a shadow over your love. I wish I could promise you a life without fear.  But all I can offer is my heart—battered, bruised, but still beating for you through any ups and lows

You are the light in my darkness, the reason I keep fighting, even when it feels like there’s no fight left in me. And even though I know I’ll never be the man you deserve, I will love you with everything I have, for as long as I can.

Yours, always, Matt”

The small paper containing Matt’s braille written note, crumbled in his fist as he stopped speaking. His voice echoed in the large church and the only other sound that could be heard were the sniffles and cries of your loved ones. Foggy, Karen, and your family. 

His fingers tightened around the folded piece of paper in his hand once again.

As he reached the casket, he paused, his breath catching in his throat. The reality of it all hit him with a force he wasn’t prepared for. You were gone. No amount of whispered promises or desperate prayers would bring you back. 

With trembling hands, he unfolded the letter, the words written across the paper now seeming so small compared to his grief. He had poured his heart into those lines, trying to capture the love, the regret, the sorrow that consumed him. But now, standing there, he felt as though nothing he could say would ever be enough.

Gently, he placed the letter on top of the casket, his fingers lingering for a moment as if he could somehow reach you through the wood and metal as if you could feel his touch one last time.

“I love you.”

Kneeling beside the casket, Matt rested his forehead against it, his hands clutching the sides as if it were the only thing keeping him from collapsing completely. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m so, so sorry…”

The church seemed to close in around him, the walls pressing down as if they were trying to suffocate the life out of him.

Matt stayed there, his heart breaking until the silence of the church was too much to bear. With a final, trembling breath, he stood, his fingers brushing over the letter one last time before he forced himself to turn away.

He knew that he would never truly leave you behind, that you would haunt him in the quiet moments when he was alone, and that your memory would be both a comfort and a curse. But for now, all he could do was walk away, leaving behind the only woman who had ever truly seen him—the woman he would love until his last breath.